


you're the beast, i'm the beauty

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Implied Germancest - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Sexual Content, Shapeshifters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir is given to Agron through an arranged marriage as payment for safe passage through Agron's kingdom. Cultures and magical powers clash as the two try to adjust to their life and Agron's father pressure to create a new heir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're the beast, i'm the beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I want to first thank crazzzedope and habibinasir who are co-betaing this together. They have been a great resource to me and without them, this fic would not be possible. 
> 
> tipsyfictionwriter, who lets me headcanon and freak out with her. thanks bb <3
> 
> Secondly, this fic comes with new warnings! I will be putting new tags on every time I post (that's why i do it in different fics all in one series), but for those of you who like to know ahead of time this fic will eventually contain:
> 
> mpreg  
> shapeshifters (mostly wolves)  
> graphic violence  
> past mentions of noncon  
> general violence  
> character death (not major)
> 
> Also, Tove's character is Russell Tovey. 
> 
> Thirdly, this is a complete work of fiction. I literally made up words and like used different languages to name things. That being said, if you find something offensive, please speak up. I will try to explain where I was coming from. 
> 
> Please see the end notes for another comment on that!
> 
> Enjoy!

The covered wagon lurches, swaying sharply to the right as the large wooden wheels pass over another clump of rocks. The ground here is foreign, prone to dips and crevices, though it appears well traveled. Inside, the warm glow of the lanterns casts sharp shadows along the canvas, glittering on the crystals and charms hanging from the ceiling, the gold taffeta gleaming in the curtains. It is the perfect image of bourgeois charm, fabrics worn but still bright.

Sitting crossed leg on the floor, Nasir and Pietros raise both of their hands again, palms nearly touching but not quite. Tiny sparks, a shower of orange and yellow passing between their fingertips, a tiny kaleidoscope of colors. It grows in it's intensity, Pietros creating blue sparks now to join the medley. Suddenly, the wagon hits another rough batch, sending the wagon sharply to the left. The motion of the wagon disrupts them, Nasir falling over from the shaking of the floor, groaning as his topples to the side. 

"Nasir!" Pietros barks, shaking his curling hair out of his eyes, "You're not concentrating enough."

"I am! How is that even my fault?" Nasir giggles, sprawling back on the scarlet pillows. His hand comes up to absently scratch his stomach, playing with the small gold hoop in his navel. 

"You don't want to control your magic. You just want to make pretty things and pretend there isn't a whole 'nother part of all of this," Pietros rolls his eyes, falling back amongst his own side of the wagon, "If I could posses the potential you have-" 

"Pietros, don't start that again" Naisr whines, a playful grin taking over his face as he reaching out a fist to the other man. Slowly uncurling his fingers, he offers the newly formed lily to him, the white petals curling softly - the perfect bud. Pietros takes it, lifts it up to take a whiff of the sweet scent, but it doesn't lighten his grimace. 

"You can't have the flowers without the flames." Pietros chastises him lightly, expression more severe than his voice, and Nasir pouts in reply. 

"You sound like my father." Picking a random scarf off the floor, Nasir begins to pick at the large metal coins adorning the hem. 

"He just wants you to cultivate your powers. You're his youngest, his diamond. You have the most potential to be-" Pietros begins, only for Nasir to cut him off with a large groan, tossing a cushion towards his best friend. 

"Yes, I know. Jem tells me on a nearly daily basis," Nasir sneers, voice sliding into a nasally impersonation of his oldest brother, "Nasir. When are you going to grow up and realize you are the jewel of this family? It is up to you to pass on the ancient magic of our-"

He's cut off as with a yell from outside, the wagon jolts again, coming to a rough stop, slamming both boys forward and into the wall. Small crystals and books clatter down on them, barely missing heads and legs. Twin yelps mirror each other, both Pietros and Nasir reaching onto each to make sure they're both okay. 

"Halt!" A voice booms close to the back of the wagon.

Brown eyes meet honeyed and suddenly Nasir is springing up, darting to the side of the wagon and untying the canvas from the wood and peering out. He can't see anything at first, just the dark woods surrounding them. Movement out of the corner of his eye catches him, and suddenly a man moves into view. 

He's perched on a large gray Friesian, sans saddle, wearing intricate leather armor, studded with large metal pieces and braided straps. Dark curly hair spills out around a thick metal crown on top of his head. It looks to be woven gold twigs, curling around a large silver circle - the moon - in the middle. He doesn't notice Nasir at first, keeping his gaze up at the front of the wagon where Jem and Mika sit. 

"What is your business here?" He growls, and Nasir catches the sight of a thick red fabric hanging from one of is pierced earlobes. 

"We are nomad travelers, hoping to move across your land. We can exchange goods for safe passage," Jem calls, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. 

"Goods?" the man on the horse raises one thick eyebrow, stroking his stubbled jaw, "And what would you have to offer us? The pleasure of your company?"

"We are performers, gifted in the art of healing and fortune," Mika replies, helping his older brother, "Let us offer your people solace from aches and disease and when all is cured, we shall continue on our way."

To the left, a man barks something in a thick language, the type that clings to the back of the throat, and the man on the horse gives a boisterous laugh. It's rough and Nasir can feel Pietros' quick intake of breath against his shoulder. It would not be the first time they have been sent away from someone's land. 

"You offer us witchcraft in exchange for our hospitality?" the man on the horse, Nasir concludes he must be someone of importance as the other man who moves his horse next to him wears nothing on top of his head, sneers at the twin princes.

"If you do not wish us here, we are happy to go by," Jem's retort is clipped, guarded, and from the gap in the canvas, Nasir can see his tan fingers reach for the long blade at his side. 

"No no," the man raises his hands, fingers covers to the first knuckle in thick leather gloves, "I shall put forth the request to the King and Heir-Apparent. Follow us and know that if you aim for violence, we are happy to reply."

He kicks his heels into the side of the horse, urging it around the wagon and forward, and Nasir loses sight of him. Slumping back amongst the cushions, he meets Pietros' surprised gaze.

"Heir apparent?" Pietros asks, a rising giggle coming forth from his mouth, 

"You get second son and I get first?" Nasir shrugs, standing up as the wagon begins to move again, and placing books back onto the shelves. 

"That's a gamble," Pietros warns, "You have no idea what he looks like. Could be some hairy, belt-busting-"

"True but that one," Nasir points outside of the caravan, "Is definitely more inclined to our kind, and I'd rather not."

"Maybe he'll want to share," Pietros smirks, reaching out tug a strand of Nasir's waist long hair, "That's always fun, right?" 

“Alright, but I'm calling sucking,” Nasir sighs, brushing his hair moodily over his shoulder, “I'm not going to rub that salve on my ass again.”

“Really?” Pietros whines, grimacing, “Fine, but that means I get to fuck him.”

“Fine, but I'm only going to use my hand then,” Nasir bargains, "I always end up with it in my hair when I try and suck them off while you fuck them."

They stare at each other for a few minutes, eyes narrowing, before Pietros' shoulders sag. 

“Spoiled brat,” Pietros snips, turning to begin pulling out their performance clothing. 

“You love me,” Nasir sing songs, a peel of laughter following. 

 

\- - -

 

Exhaling slowly, Agron rolls onto his back, staring up at the steepled ceiling of his tent. Against his side, Celsus pants hard, one hand lightly resting against Agron's slicked thigh. The air smells thick of the two of them, sweat and skin and tang of heat. It's nearly smothering, and Agron's nose twitches from it, recoiling. His senses overloaded from it.

"That was-" Celsus groans, combing his fingers through his blond hair. 

"Yeah," Agron agrees, rolling to stand up, reaching for the bowl of water beside the bed and rag. 

He wipes down his stomach and hips, grimacing even more as he feels it nearly sink into his skin. Agron always hates this part - the lingering scent, the restlessness to get out and run, the diluted pleasure. His body is still thrumming, orgasm alright, but not the type that rips you in half, wrings you out. He wants that, wants true competition.

"You know I've heard things, but I never thought I would get chosen by you," Celsus laughs from the bed, rolling over onto his stomach, "Should I get my head measured for a crown?"

"What?"

Turning, Agron's eyes roam over his soft, pale skin. There is a splatter of freckles along the top of his shoulders, a birthmark at the base of his spine right above his ass. Agron can't deny that he is lovely, a rosey blush still on his cheeks. But Agron can't for the life of him remember his name.

"Will I be a king or a queen?" Celsus asks, picking lightly at the blankets before him. 

“What are you talking about?” Agron tosses the rag down, turning and trying to locate his clothes. His subligaria is unraveled a few feet from the bed and he reaches for it, noticing Celsus' eyes trailing down his back.

"We-" Celsus sits up, a confused pout gracing his face. 

"We fucked," Agron states matter-of-factly, "Did I give you the wrong impression?"

"But-" Celsus begins to stand, cut off as the flap of the tent is suddenly thrown open. 

"Agron!" Duro greets, dashing around the center hearth and through the thin curtains to the bed.

"Oh." He grimaces when he sees the smaller boy on the bed, unphased by Agron's own nakedness. "I didn't realize you were entertaining."

"What's wrong?" Agron asks, pulling his subligaria around him and yanking his crown out from under his chest piece. It's a thick gold twisted branch, folding over and over itself before rising in the center to support the silver plated moon - more extravagant and large for the first in line.

"A large caravan was intercepted on the road," Duro explains, eyes sneaking side long glances at the bed.

"So?" Agron pulls his sword belt around his waist, straightening the leather straps as he buckles it in place, "Send them away."

"They have dancers," Duro wiggles his eyebrows, "and magic. And from what I could see of their men, they're more inclined to your eye."

"Again, so?" Agron finishes putting on his armor, tossing Celsus his cloak on the floor. He wishes he would hurry up and redress, the stricken look on his face making Agron twinge in a small amount of regret.

"So they need safe passage through the land and when is the last time we had some real, actual fun?" Duro whines, turning to the boy on the bed, "No offense. I'm sure you had a - well - good fucking time."

The brothers share a look, dissolving into snickers and matching grins. It's a lame joke, and Duro bends at the waist a little, childhood delight. Agron recovers quickly, wiping his hand down his mouth and chin, smoothing out his features. Behind him, Celsus gives a sharp bark. 

"Fuck you!"

He's pulled on his clothes again, shoes grasped in one hand and cloak in the other. Agron instantly feels bad, stepping towards him, but Celsus recoils, mouth set in a scowl. It smarts more than it should, but Agron can't let it show – resigned to his princely mask. 

"You know, I've heard rumors about you. People say you're a monster," Celsus' voice is high, sharp and bitter, "That you're a beast who doesn't care as long as you get your dick wet.”

Agron's mouth stays shut, Duro freezing out of the corner of his eye. 

“I was really hoping they were wrong, that you weren't just some fucking animal.” Celsus walks towards the opening of the tent, grimace shifting into a sneer, “but I was wrong.”

“Get out.” Agron barks, teeth glinting dangerously in the dying firelight. 

Celsus gapes, having the audacity to look even more offended. He shoves past Duro, shoulder checking him in the ribs, before sprinting out the leather flaps of the tent. The princes share a look, Duro grimacing and scratching the back of his head. It's not Agron's most graceful performance. Usually there is a lot more tears or lascivious winks. Celsus' retreating steps finally die out, and Agron sighs, finishing buckling his cloak across his broad chest. 

“Worth it?” Duro asks, crooked grin pulling across his face. 

“He was alright,” Agron shrugs noncommittally. 

“You're still hard.” Duro waves his hand towards Agron's groin where the fabric is still tented. 

“Yeah well,” Agron rubs a hand through his hair, growling. 

"Want help?" Duro smirks, leering as he moves forward a few feet. 

"No, no." Agron skirts away from him, moving towards the tent entrance. "Caravan?"

"Please let them stay. Father will listen to you," Duro whines, gripping onto Agron's arm, swinging it like he used to when they were younger and much shorter. "It'll be fun and I saw they had a little pretty thing hiding in their wagon. Big eyes. Probably thick in the ass. Just your type."

Duro pulls the full pout, bottom lip trembling and huge brown eyes. Morphing his face into as innocent as he can, Duro crouches down a little to press his head against Agron's thick shoulder. Agron turns his stony gaze towards him, taking in the expression and dumbly charming crooked grin. It tugs at something in Agron, and he wrinkles his nose at Duro, gnashing his teeth towards him.

"Fine, but one thing - **one thing** \- goes wrong and I am going to-" Agron is cut off by Duro's shout of triumph. 

"I know, I know. You'll beat the shit out of me," Duro hops a little, bounding after Agron as he shoves out of the tent. 

 

\- - - 

 

"Behave," Mika hisses, guiding them forward. His hair is a little wild, thick curls around his cheeks and jaw, eyes dark. Jem smiles softly over at him, lacing their fingers together.

"Don't I always?" Nasir grits, tucking his veil harder across his face. 

"I mean it," Jem agrees with his twin, and the two share matching glares over their shoulders. 

Nasir wants to pull a face, hiss at his brothers, but he's suddenly silenced as they walk through the trees and enter into what he supposes is a town. Kind of. There are at least one hundred tents, scattered around a large bonfire pit, ranging in sizes and shapes. There are wicker baskets brimming with food, animal furs hung between tens, and the sweet scent of wine lingering in the air. 

People gather along the edges of their parade, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. They make an eerie noise in the silence of the town, thin shiny fabric shifting against warm, tan flesh. Nasir's people are weighed down with bracelets, rings, anklets, and necklaces that catch the firelight. They look ethereal, cosmic, and Nasir turns his dark lined eyes away from these people, watches the flexing of Jem and Mika's matching tattoos on their lower back.

A small boy runs to the front, hand reaching out to gently brush his fingers along Pietros' silver robe. Huge blue eyes stare up at him, but when Pietros smiles down at him, his mother sudden dashes forward, picking up her son with a growl. Recoiling, Pietros curls closer, wounded.

It's strange. The whole place looks sturdy, but old; so very old. There are silver charms of moons hanging from nearly every tent doorway, the tanned hide of the tents looking weathered. Nasir gets the creeping feeling that there is something magical here, older than his own people, and it paces under the surface, nearly growling to be released. A sharp noise, like a howl, pierces the air and Nasir slips his hand into Pietros', eyes widening above his veil. The fear only grows as they are herded into a large tent, kept dark except for a roaring fire.

Positioned in the center of the room is a large chair, taller than any throne Nasir has ever seen as it stretches nearly to the top of the room. The whole thing is intricately carved metal, and it takes a moment for Nasir to realize that the back of it is a pack of wolves, all climbing on top of each other to a lone one that hangs over the top. His mouth is open over the top of the man currently occupying the seat. 

He's so fucking large, and Nasir's eyes can't seem to take in all of them. Body covered in furs and metal armor, his beard is huge, dark brown and streaked with gray, eyes beady and unwelcoming. On top of his head is a crown completely made up out of twisted gold with a huge silver disk - bigger than Nasir's fist - hanging above his head in a intricate twist of gold and red jewels. To his left stands the prince from before, arms crossed over his chest as he shoots looks to his older brother over their father's head. 

Nasir has met many men over the years, of every age and size, but this one - this single prince - suddenly yanks the very air from his lungs. He's huge, like a titan in thick armor and rippling muscles – arms bulging under his cloak - blatantly ignoring his brother's attempts at catching his eyes. Instead, his gaze shifts around the room, seeming to freeze when it comes to rest on Nasir, half hidden behind Jem's back like a child. He feels trapped, captured in a predator's gaze, but he can't seem to move. Nasir can feel his face heating up, blush staining his cheeks under the thick veil.

He's so distracted by the man's green eyes seeming to glow in the firelight that he completely misses the beginning of his father's speech. Kallistos looks small next to the three, yet he's tall in their people's standards, with long gray hair pulled back into a braid. His wrinkled hands are full of rings and bracelets, looking heavy around these people, too shiny and vain. 

"King Gerulf," Kallistos continues, "we only aim for few days rest and safe passage through your lands. In exchange, let us entertain you, mystify you, and heal your people with our powers."

"A few days?" King Gerulf replies and his voice is thick and gritty. "For you and your...traveling horde?"

Mika and Jem bristle under the implication, as if they are lower than the men before them. Nasir wants to press his cold fingers into his brothers' backs, sooth them, but he's still paralyzed. The prince hasn't stopped staring at him, fist coming up to rub the side of his thumb along his bottom lip. Licking his lips, Nasir tracks the motion before Pietros suddenly steps on his foot, eyes wide and panicked. 

He tunes back into the conversation just as Gerulf is finishing, feeling like he's missed a lot. 

“I want a demonstration, show us your magical powers.”

“A-a demonstration? Of course! Of course, mighty king,” Kallistos turns and finds Nasir. “How would like this demonstration?”

There is a moment where Nasir has to tear his eyes away from the prince, and it hurts, until he finds his father's slightly panicked gaze. It pulls something sickly and rough to the back of Nasir's throat, freezing him, and he almost wishes that he had begged to stay in the wagon and not come along. This doesn't feel right, that pacing danger under the surface finally turning its attention towards him.

“Agron,” Gerulf turns to the older prince, pulling a long dagger from his belt, “come here.”

Stepping forward, Agron meets Duro's worried gaze for just a moment, before his father is reaching up and roughly grabbing his hand. They are and were never allowed to speak out against their father's wishes, and both bare scars from attempting it. Willing his face into a neutral position, Agron praises himself on not pulling away or flinching when Gerulf swipes the blade swiftly and efficiently over his wrist. Agron's gaze narrows, tunneling in on the sudden flow of blood, watching it steadily dripping onto the dirt floor. 

“Save him.” Gerulf shrugs, turning back to raise an eyebrow at Kallistos – a challenge. 

“Nasir,” Kallistos snaps, voice high and a little frantic, “go and show them what you can do.”

Nasir feels Mika and Jem grab his arms, pulling him to the front of the crowd. Somehow his hand gets yanked from Pietros, and before he knows it, he's standing before the prince - _Agron_ \- who looks oddly calm for the fact that his life is literally spilling out between them. 

“Heal him,” Mika hisses in Nasir's left ear as Jem echos it in the other. 

Trembling fingers raise, and Nasir feels separated from his own body, so out of control. Wasn't he just trying to get his heart back into working order a moment ago? He makes the mistake of raising his eyes to look into Agron's, and that breathless feeling comes back even harder, mouth left gaping. Sweat breaks out across the back of his neck, and he wishes he wasn't standing here in just loose, sheer black pants and his veil, basically naked save for the thick band of fabric across his groin, bracelets clinking as he clamps down his palm across the wound. 

Agron hisses as the first curls of magic course through Nasir's palm, and he feels like he should say something, but he really can't. The man's – boy really – eyes are so wide and they reflect the fire in a way that makes Agron want to draw closer, slowly pull that veil away from the rest of his face. All he can see are those eyes but they are enough. If he thought he was even slightly satisfied from Celsus earlier, it all melts away in the presence of this man. 

Nasir audibly gasps as he feels the heat suddenly trail up his arm. It's not a burning but a tingle, like an inch in the middle of the night, and Nasir feels himself lean closer. Agron's eyes are bright as Nasir cranes his neck back to look at him, mouth slightly parted – an invitation. The feeling grows and Nasir is surprised by how much he suddenly wants to take his clothes off, needing to feel the rest of his skin up against Agron's. Wants to taste that mouth and everything below it, surrender to the pleasure.

Agron feels the pacing under his skin turning to a growling sweat, inching along his spine. He is pretty sure that his palm is wider than this boy's neck, could fit it across him, anchor him down while Agron kisses along that smooth stomach, teasingly bite at that hoop. It's a dizzying daydream, a fevered musing, but it's over too quick.

“It's healed!” Duro suddenly cries, pulling Agron's out of Nasir's grasp roughly. “Holy fuck!”

Recoiling, Nasir slides back into the comfort of his brother's arms, Pietros' fingers curling in his own again. He doesn't know why but he suddenly feels like hiding, so self conscious for the thoughts that are still thrumming in the back of his skull. Agron's gaze hasn't left him, still looking for him as he disappears behind Mika and Jem's bodies. 

“Well,” Gerulf exclaims, standing to his full height. He's barely shorter than his sons, who crowd together on one side. “We can't show disrespect to the people who saved our prince's life.”

Gerulf's laugh prompts the rest of the crowd to respond, Agron's chuckles forced and cracking. The only reason he's not shoving through to get to Nasir is because of Duro's death grip on his arms. He watches his father come and wrap his arm around Nasir's father, leading him out towards the night air. It parts the crowd and Agron catches sight of Nasir again, but before he can step forward, Agron watches the twins suddenly guiding Nasir out, holding him firmly. 

“What the fuck was that?” Duro hisses as the crowd all file out. He still is holding Agron's arms in his own, staring at the unmarred flesh.

“I don't know but,” Agron reaches his fingers up to his lips, feeling his fangs pressing sharp and vicious against his skin.

“We have a problem.” Duro completes, staring out after the softly jingling crowd.

 

\- - - 

 

The night is clear and warm, stars gleaming next to the nearly full moon. It's mostly peaceful, if not a little tense at times, as things begin to settle. People gather in small groups around the blazing fire, laughter and drink exchanged. There is a clearly a divide between the Alptraum and their guests, the shimmer of metallic fabric and smooth, foreign speech the most obvious. They seem to cower away from the table, a fact that Agron is very aware of, sending half cast gazes towards the royals. 

Draining his goblet, Agron pours himself another fill of wine, leaning back in his wooden chair. He presses his foot against the table, ignoring the food in favor of watching the few brightly robed men dragging a large box into the center of the empty space between Agron's table and the fire. It loos like a giant carved white flower, petals curving down in a soft, gentle arch. 

“What do you suppose that's for?” Duro flops into the chair next to Agron, crown crooked on his head and cheeks rosy with drink. 

“Probably some magic shit,” Agron grumbles, picking at the rough skin around his thumb nail. 

“You're not still upset about being yanked away from your little healer, are you?” Duro teases, yanking a leg of meat off the table and towards his mouth. Before it can reach his lips though, Agron tugs it away from him. 

“No. Don't be stupid.” He tries to play it off nonchalant, but Agron can't help but stare at the unmarred flesh of his wrist. There isn't even a hint of a scar, just smooth, pale skin.

“You want him,” Duro leans closer to whisper huskily in Agron's ear, “Want to bring him back to your tent and see what is hiding behind that veil of his. What else he can do with his hands.”

“Fuck off.” Agron tears off a large chunk of meat, chewing grumpily. He doesn't like the truth behind Duro's words. Agron doesn't know why but Nasir fascinates him. From his gold jewelry to his dark eyes and his magic still slightly tingling on Agron's skin, he is strange and Agron wants to know more. 

Suddenly, drums begin to pound, musicians seeming to appear out of thin air. The sound is inciting, a thumping bass that swoops up with the sharp notes of a flute, whine of a sitar, and the twinkling of a tambourine. It's hypnotic and the dancers that stream out from behind the lotus flower box match it, dressed in brilliant emeralds, indigos, and purples. They're all wearing long flowing skirts, cut slits up the sides to expose long, tan legs and thick anklets that twinkle together with their movements. Their chests are bare except for thick necklaces, hip chains, and colored sashes. It's unlike anything Agron and Duro have ever seen.

Agron can't help thinking they seem decadent, the image of indulgence and beauty. He doesn't see Nasir among them, but there are enough beautiful bodies spinning around and rolling their hips for him to be a little distracted. It's sensual, even in the smooth way they arch their arms, and the firelight back lighting them. Duro elbows him, but Agron can't turn his gaze away, captivated by the peaking shimmer of skin and sweat on the dancers.

The start out in a large circle, spinning with glittering scarves, dipping their hips in tight little figure eights. It contorts their stomach, bodies as if on a wire as they twirl their arms above their head, leaning back in an arch. Out of the fray, one dancer steps forward and throws their hand forward, and a shower of rainbow colored sparks fly into the air. It sets off the rest of them, suddenly tiny swirls of light that hover in the air. Some pour down like rain upon them, standing on their skin like shimmering glitter and metallic flecks of light. 

Spinning faster and faster, the dancers gather with waving bodies and arms towards the flower, and with a loud thump, the drums stop. The flute pulls out a soft note, a tickle that grows more in power as suddenly the petals begin to fold down, parting to reveal a long figure standing in the center of the platform, back lit by the fire. 

Body arched in a sharp U, the figure's long dark hair brushes the ground in thick waves. He raises his hands above his head, sliding them back and forth as he comes to stand, stomach in a sharp concave and Agron recognizes him instantly. Nasir's outfit is a deep crimson, band around his waist thin and translucent, barely hiding his groin but highlighting the sharp cut of his hipbones, riding low it's almost a tease of what lies under the cloth. The skirts are slit up both sides, bare legs weighed down with thick gold anklets covered in chiming coins. Painted up his stomach is a swirl of gold paint, disappearing behind the thick necklaces hanging down his chest. 

With a burst of flames, Nasir steps out of the flower and onto the ground, and it's a flurry of motion. The dancers draw closer together only to fan out again, staying in sync as they swing their arms above their heads, sharp movements in time with their hips. Nasir's veil stays across his face, hiding his chin and mouth, but his eyes glow in the flames as the dancers move together. It's hypnotizing, the way Nasir's body moves, siren call drawing Agron's eyes unmoving from him. He shimmers and clinks but it just a distraction for his true beauty.

Dropping to the soft ground, the dancers crawl together, twisting and coiling around one another with flashes of soft, supple tan skin. It's sensual, sweat slick skin and hair and hands, Nasir appearing in the middle, two men on either side to roll their hips against his, grinding him close. He teases his fingers along one's jaw, allowing the other to press his face into Nasir's neck, eyelashes fluttering before suddenly staring directly at the royal table.

Agron uses his foot on the table to spread his legs a little, allowing for his hardening cock to press against his thigh. It's an instant reaction as Nasir's skin gleams in the light, smooth and it looks so soft. Chewing noncommittally on his leg of boar, Agron lets his eyes freely roam over the little Pythonissam, noting the sharp cut of his hips and dark kohl lining his eyes. Agron wants him, now, instantly. He wants to pull the cloth from his face, lay him onto the table and take what Agron wants. 

Seeming to sense the increase in passion, the group rolls apart, moving with sure footed steps towards the onlooking crowd. Nasir steps like liquid across the ground, fluid and graceful. Agron finds his chest constricting a little, seeing the whole length of his legs, the shadow of his ass. Placing his hands on the table, Nasir stares at Agron across it, cocking his head, eyes full of mirth, before suddenly jumping on top of the wood. Spinning on his heel, Nasir winks at Agron over his shoulder, teasing and coy.

The sparkling light around him only seems to increase as he spreads his legs around Agron's and slides down it, landing in his lap. He laughs a little, breathless in Agron's face as he grinds his hips down onto Agron's. At first, it's just friction, and then Nasir lines them up, braces his fingers on Agron's broad shoulder for balance, and it's bliss. It's pure pleasure, and Agron has to resist reaching up and yanking the veil from his face. He wants to know what lies behind the crimson silk, taste what he imagines is a full mouth. 

“You're lovely,” Agron smirks, fingers trailing up Nasir's bare thighs. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Duro also has his lap full, thick curly black hair and tan skin. 

“You haven't seen me completely, your majesty,” Nasir laughs, curling his hands above his head as he swings his hips a little faster. 

“I would very much like to.” Slipping his fingers under the soft mesh covering Nasir under his skirt, he caresses the smooth skin of his ass. Nasir instantly freezes, and his blush reaches even above his veil. 

“Perhaps you will.” 

With a wink, he slips back from Agron's lap, easily moving from around the table to join the rest of the dancers. Though he's still in sync with them, Nasir can't help his eyes straying over to the large prince. He's got this weirdly charming grin on his face, dimples denting his cheeks, and he looks young and sensual and Nasir is so willing if his father commands him to Agron's tent later. 

The dance ends on a sharp, final clang of symbols, and they all bow to the uproarious applause of the crowd. It's the same reaction they always get, the stares and gawks and chimes for more. Nasir falls into acting like the overly pleased performer, accepting the catcalls and hollers. It all goes away at night though, when he's back and curled up in his wagon with Pietros. They're back to being boys, barely nineteen and still willing to flourish in something other than giving their bodies and magic to the enjoyment of others. 

 

\- - - 

 

Kallistos moves slowly around the edges of the tent, eyes roaming over the thick skeleton remains of what looks like deer, chimera, monocerus, wyvern, and peryton. It's a graveyard, a hunter's trophy room. As much as it disgusts him, it really doesn't surprise Kallistos. These people, these animals, are known for their slaughtering. He would rather his people not be subjected to this, but isn't it better to be in the protection of the wolf than be out hiding with the prey?

He's startled when the applause finally finishes from outside of the tent, an eerie silence taking over before the normal sounds of eating and drink once again fill the air – magic disappating. Nasir and his dancers have done well. They will sleep in comfort and safety tonight, and when morning comes, set about the task of healing those that will need it. He knows the twins will do their duty of getting Nasir ready for later, when the moon is higher and Nasir will sneak into the older prince's tent, entice him with magic and his flesh. 

“Ah! _König von Hexen!_ I did not mean to keep you waiting for so long,” Gerulf greets from the doorway, the flaps of the tent shuddering back into place as his large form strides further inside. 

He is easily a towering six feet, and though Kallistos prides himself on being close to five nine, five ten, he is still so very thin next to this hulking giant. 

“No, your majesty, I was just admiring your collection,” Kallistos motions towards the hide nearest to him – what appears to once belong to a catoblepus. 

“Yes, that was Agron's first kill. He was a wee little thing, barely five years old,” Gerulf pours himself a large goblet of wine, offering it towards Kallistos who has no choice but to take it. 

“He is a very good warrior then?” Kallistos asks out of respect, already knowing the answer. Agron is the type of heir that any king would be proud of – large, arrogant, rippling with ferocity that will pour over into his ruling. He will be a vicious king bred by a vicious father. 

“The best in our land next to his adviser, Spartacus,” Gerulf settles himself on his throne, large thighs spread and thick. “Tell me about your sons.”

“I was blessed with six,” Kallistos answers, sitting himself on a chair. “Ashur, my first, stolen by vampires. Lido married into seers of the north. Kalmar given to the faes for consort and keep. Mika and Jem, born as twins and never to be parted. And Nasir, my diamond and youngest.”

“You are in the trade of selling sons,” Gerulf observes, a smirk pulling his beard up on one side. 

“My sons have their paths. I am not one to turn them from their destiny,” Kallistos reins in his anger, unwilling to provoke this king, but his words twist something dark and evil inside of himself – a guilt that he can not shake. 

“Tell me about your little cub, Nasir,” Gerulf motions with his hand, urging the other man onward. 

“Nasir is my jewel,” Kallistos praises, a small smile gracing his weathered face, “Young and beautiful, so very beautiful. He is the most powerful of our people – the one to give life and to take it away.”

“Give life?” Gerulf leans forward, motioning for the older man to explain. 

“Our people,” Kallistos hesitates, but he knows Gerulf will hear the lie in his heartbeat if he tries to sway his answer, “are sometimes blessed with life giving – the production of a child regardless of the sex of it's parents. Nasir can bare children.”

Gerulf sits quietly for a moment, a large, bloated hand coming up to stroke his beard. He has heard of this before, the mysterious traveling horde with their witchcraft and magic, producing flames but also children from deep within their dark bodies. He's been waiting, curious if such tails are true or not, and yet here one falls into his lap. 

He studies the gray man before him, taking in his long hair and his gold robe, the lines in his face. Gerulf images that he was once a beauty, probably smooth cheeked and fulll mouthed. There must have been a lot of men and women who would not turn him away, but all that glimmer seems to have trailed off – been given to his children. Gerulf has seen the twins, watched the way their arms wound around one another, dark eyes biting and harsh to anyone who drew near. But Nasir, the little one with his big eyes and his skinny shoulders, had brazenly touched Agron and gotten nothing in return – no harsh growl or biting words from the prince. There was a spark there that Gerulf would have to be blind not to see.

“You are guests here,” Gerulf begins slowly, “but I can not let you stay for free. Your magic and entertainment can only stretch our hospitality so far. These are dangerous times, my friend, very dangerous for any sort out in the woods.”

“We are at your mercy,” Kallistos mouth fills with acidic dread, knowing within his heart of hearts what this king is about to require. He can't say no.“Take what you want.”

“I would have Nasir. If he is as powerful as you say, then he will be a great asset to my people,” Gerulf lounges back in his throne, “You will have the knowledge that he will be safe among us as well, a peace of mind for an aging father.”

“Your majesty,” Kallistos picks his words very carefully, lingering on each, “you have two very fitting and mighty heirs. You have done well for yourself and your line. I am not sure Nasir can give you more fitting men.”

“I do not want him for myself,” Gerulf laughs loudly, body shaking with the effort. Kallistos tries to match his smile, but it comes out more grimace than true pleasure. 

“Agron, my eldest, refuses to lay with women," Gerulf continues, stroking his beard, "He has no interest in it. Even surrounded by other men, he will not take a woman for his own. I fear I may never get grandchildren from him, another heir."

"You would have Nasir give Agron children?" Kallistos pauses, brow creasing. "To pass off as another's?"

"No, no," Gerulf laughs, "I would have them be married. Nasir will be a consort one day, when I have passed on. He will keep his children."

Kallistos sighs deeply, taking a pull from his mostly forgotten goblet of wine. There is no other option for this, there is no out. He must do this and do it with a smile. For the safety of his people, his whole tribe, he ha to sacrifice another son. It's been like this so many times before, with Ashur who was stolen from him. Lido who took his fate with a stony glare towards his father. Kalmar who cried and begged not to go. Has he ever been able to keep a child? Mika and Jem skirt along the lines of abomination, laying with each other in intimacy and taking no one else. Even if they are given to a prince or diplomat to secure their safety and position within a town, they only go together. 

It all comes down to power in the end. Kallistos is left with very little choice in the matter. Either he gives up his son or he risks the lives of all of his people. 

“Of course. I will be happy to join our families,” Kallistos even manages to smile while he says it. He can only imagine what Nasir's reaction will be. 

“Excellent!” Gerulf cries, standing to his full height, “Let us announce while we have everyone gathered.”

“Now?!” Kallistos hastens to follow the large king, pulling his robes tightly around himself. 

“Of course. It is best this way we can get started on the preparations for tomorrow's wedding.”

Gerulf leads the other man into the throng of people, and Kallistos can't help feeling a little over whelmed. Looking out across the crowd, he heart tugs as he sees Nasir and Pietros sitting together on a blanket in front of the twins. All of them are laughing, sharing bits of bread and wine between them. They look young, happy, and Kallistos hates the fact that he's going to be the reason it's all ruined. 

 

\- - - 

 

“You were very bold to just sink into his lap like that,” Mika frowns disapprovingly, though it is lessened as his twin feeds him a bit of unleavened bread. 

“He's a prince. I could see what he wanted, and I gave it to him,” Nasir rolls his eyes, speaking around the food already in his mouth, “It's not like father isn't going to send me to him later anyways.”

“Besides,” Pietros chimes in, leaning heavily against Nasir's side, “he liked it. They both did.”

“Please,” Nasir shoves Pietros away, shaking his head, “The man is a brute. Agron probably doesn't even know what to do with his cock, let alone how to fuck me with it. Trust me. I'll go in there tonight and have to ride him and he'll be passed out by the time I pull off him.”

“You're vulgar,” Jem hisses, curling closer to his twin. It's strange when they kiss, the same profile linked together, almost as if one is kissing a mirror. When Mika lets out a soft groan though, mouth opening to allow Jem's tongue inside, Nasir turns away, playfully making a gagging noise. 

“Says the boy kissing his identical twin,” Pietros adds, tossing a grape towards them. 

“At least we know what we're working with,” Mika snaps out, fingers still laced in Jem's long, dark hair, “You two have fun tonight.”

“You little-” Nasir starts, outraged, only to be suddenly cut off a voice booms above the crowd. 

“My people! We have a joyous announcement.” Gerulf stands before the royal table, arms outstretched and large, fur cloak spread around him. Kallistos stands to the side, stoic and shimmering in the firelight. They could not appear more different. 

“The Pythonissam people have graced us with their song and dance this evening, but a greater joy is upon us. With the permission from their king, Kallistos, we have sought a stronger unity. My son Agron, the beast from Alptra.”

Gerulf motions and Agron comes to him, joints stiff and unsure, but he stands tall and proud next to his father, mouth set in a firm line. 

“And my son, Nasir, _medeis gemma_ , of the lost land of Pythonissa.” 

Hands grip Nasir's arms and before he can comprehend, Pietros is pushing him onto his feet and shoving him towards his father. He does well not to trip over his dancing skirts, nearly falling if it were not for Agron's hand suddenly gripping his. It's warm and rough, callouses from sword work across his palms, and yet they're soft in a way, gentle on his skin. 

“Will be joined in unity under the moon tomorrow evening. Rejoice as this marriage will secure the line and will soon produce an heir!” 

Gerulf raises their joined hands together, and Agron does not stoop, but does not raise his arm all the way, allowing for the slack Nasir needs due to his height. They stand together, frozen as cheers and cries wash over them, the crowd shrieking in excitement for the marriage. 

Nasir can not breathe, eyes watering instantly as he scans the crowd. Pietros, Mika, and Jem are huddled together, grasping hands with gaping mouths, a look of stricken horror so awash on Pietros' usually cheerful face it's almost humorous. Yet Nasir can't muster a smile, but turns eyes to stare up at the man next to him – his future husband. 

The words wash over Agron like hot water, boiling within his skin and veins. His father has bought him a bride, a little man – barely the age of bearding – who will become his consort and most trusted adviser? What is the joke here? Surely Gerulf is mad if he thinks Agron will so easily be joined with this outsider. Nasir is beautiful, Agron will lend him that, but he is fickle. He hides behind magic and shimmering cloth, not made for the harsh land or politics of Alptra.

“Come my sons,” Gerulf turns the pair, and they remove their fingers from one another as if they are being burned. “You both have much to discuss with your fathers. Agron, fetch Duro and come to my tent. Kallistos-”

“Nasir,” Kallistos interrupts, “We shall retire.”

They lead the two apart, and neither spares the other a backwards glance, too caught up in their own thoughts to spare one for each other. 

 

\- - - 

 

“What is the game? Tell me what is the ploy? Do we rob them on my wedding night? Do I sneak away and meet you at some location in the woods?” Nasir's voice grows frantic as he paces his small wagon, barely containing his tears, “Tell me you did not-” He chokes. “not sell me to these barbarians like some fucking piece of jewelry.”

“Nasir,” Kallistos snaps, looming over his youngest son, “Still your tongue. If you are overheard-”

“Let them hear me!” Nasir suddenly cries, yanking his veil from his face so his father can see the twisted words leaving his mouth, “Let them all know what type of father you are!”

Sharp sparks fly from the tips of Nasir's fingertips, magic swelling within him. He still hasn't learned how to control it when he gets emotional, a fault that Pietros and him have been trying to work on with little avail.

“Hush!” Mika and Jem push through the clothed opening of the wagon, followed closely by Pietros. “All of the encampment can hear you.”

“I don't care! You can't do this to me,” Nasir sobs, covering his face with his hands. “These people are...are...are animals.” 

Pietros and Mika easily wrap Nasir up in their arms as Jem stands in front of them, as the oldest, and shields them from Kallistos' wrathful gaze. They make a tight group, and Kallistos wishes he could grant Nasir his freedom, let this all be some ploy, but it's not. It can't be. No matter how much it hurts to do this.

“Father,” Jem begins slowly, “What is the meaning of all of this? Did he threaten us? Surely this has to be like Lido.”

“Gerulf would see more payment for our time here. He wishes to see his son wed and given an heir. Nasir, you are the only one of us left that has that gift until Mika and Jem produce children of their own.” Kallistos explains, folding his wrinkled arms across his chest. 

“So you traded me like I'm some _thing_ to be given from hand to hand,” Nasir hisses, the heat of his magic sending static through the air, condensing it until it's thick and hard to breathe. 

“Nasir, you are engaged. You will marry Agron and you will stay here with them when we leave. It is out of our hands,” Kallistos answers, turning away from the tearful gazes of his sons. He wishes he could explain more, the underlying threat, the power that Gerulf and his people posses, but no matter what he could say, it wouldn't change anything.

“And that is it?” Nasir spits, using Mika's arm as support, “I'm just to be given away.”

“Nasir, you are to become a king. Your sons and daughters will be taken care of, royalty even. This isn't such a bad life,” Jem soothes, brushing Nasir's hair back from his forehead. He doesn't agree with his father, but this could have been a lot worse.

“You support this too?” Nasir turns his eyes to his brother, the look of betrayal hardening his features. 

“We can always come back, travel through and see you,” Mika adds, rubbing his hands up and down Nasir's bare back. 

Sliding from between their hands, Nasir curls up on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. The twins move away from him, go to stand with their father, but Pietros lowers himself down, wraps his arms firmly around Nasir's body. It's the one comfort he has, and it's about to be snatched from him. Pietros and Nasir have been inseparable since birth, mothers best friends until their death, and Nasir can not imagine his life without his best friend. He can't. 

“If I am forced to stay here,” Nasir begins through gritted teeth, raising his eyes to glare out at his father, his family, the abandonment still fresh, “then I want Pietros to stay with me.”

“That's not up to me,” Kallistos frowns, “You have to ask your newly betrothed, but I do not think that wise. We will still need someone to lead the dancers-”

“You would take everything from me,” Nasir hisses, “I won't let you take the only person who seems to not want to push me away like some cattle at market.”

“Nasir,” Pietros soothes, brushing Nasir's hair from his face, “Hush. It's okay.”

“No, it's not. It'll never be okay.”

Wiping his hands along his cheeks to clear the tears, Nasir stands to his full height, still the shortest in the room. He squares his shoulders, pulling his veil off the floor from where it has fallen and once more placing it across his nose and mouth. The others watch him, silent as he yanks on a black robe, tying it over his chest, before finally turning his gaze back to his father. 

“I will go to him, now, but when I return, I want all of you from within my room.”

His voice is not his own, bitter and ragged, cried thin. Nasir wishes he could just lay down, sleep for days, all the fury and energy from before draining out of him. He knows that there is nothing he can do now. He's never had freedom, the choice to make his own choices. He's been a puppet from the moment he learned to dance, to entice men into his bed. And he will remain so under Agron's surely cruel hand. 

“Nasir,” Mika and Jem reach for him, identical sympathetic expressions pulling on their face. 

“No,” Nasir snaps, proud of the fact that his voice does not waver, “you will address me as your majesty now. You chose this fate for me and you will live with the consequences.”

He turns then, not letting his tears begin to flow again until he's out of the wagon and further into the night. 

 

\- - - 

 

“You know,” Tove leans heavily on the side of the throne, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck, “he does have a great arse, from what I could see.”

“Hardly the point,” Duro hisses, pulling his fist away from his mouth, “He's...He's basically a child. I can't believe father is making you fucking do this. Marrying that savage as if he's worthy of baring your child.”

“The king commands it, and it will be done.” Agron grits through his teeth. He's been pacing in the same spot for some time now, the dirt under his feet showing his path. A large amphora of wine lay shattered to the side, a casualty of his war path when he entered the royal tents. 

“But I mean, it's not all bad. He's young, yes, but think of the benefits. He's a little wild. Has magic. Can dance.,” Tove raises his hands a small distance apart, moving them up and down in half moon shapes. “He's tight in all the right places. Youth has it's advantages. More stamina, willing to please-”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Agron hisses, turning sharply to glare at his cousin. “He's not a piece of meat that we just caught. He's a fucking human being who-”

“My sons!” Gerulf greets, suddenly appearing in the tent entrance, spreading his arms wide. 

“Father.”

Duro and Agron reply in unison, dropping their head in quick bows. Tove follows a moment after, looking awkward as his ears turn a bright red. He hopes the king has not over heard, always searching for acceptance in his uncle's gaze. 

“Such excitement among our people. Guests and a wedding to plan. Certainly much to do tomorrow,” Gerulf moves towards his throne, batting his hand at Tove who doesn't skimper out of the way fast enough. He settles his wide body, legs splayed and full, and motions for Tove to pour him some wine. 

“Thank you father,” Agron nods, keeping his face cool and neutral – the image of a high prince - as is expected.

“Yes, it is a joyous day,” Duro agrees, eyeing his brother wearily from the corner of his eye. Agron's expression is stony, holding back the rage barely contained in his eyes. “Do you believe though, father, perhaps decision was rushed? We do not know what sort of trickery these people posses. What if this is some plot to rob us or steal Agron himself?”

“You question my judgment?” Gerulf turns his steel gray eyes towards his youngest, mouth set in a firm line. 

“No! No, of course not.” Duro back peddles, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

“He doesn't mean it that way father. Only trying to be protective of our line,” Agron intercedes, stepping in front of Duro, “If you think him worthy choice, then I am happy to join our families.”

“Good, see Duro, your brother does not question his king or his father - a worthy heir.” Gerulf still keeps his gaze on the younger of the two, “You would be wise to pay closer attention to him.”

Duro hides his shame well, nodding abruptly before stepping towards the entrance of the tent. Gerulf will only chide him more if he sees the resignation in his face, the knowledge that no matter what he does, Duro will always be less than Agron. He's just about to exit when the hide is thrown open and Nasir comes barreling in, graceful but pointed. He pauses right inside, eyes scanning the room before making a beeline to Agron, instantly dropping to his knees. 

“I wish to have a private audience with you, your majesty.” He keeps his eyes trained to the top of Agron's boots the whole time. 

“Eager already for the wedding night?” Gerulf teases, hoisting himself out of his throne, “Look at how easily he falls on his knees for you, Agron.”

“I do not think that is his purpose here, father,” Agron takes it with a tight smile, “but I will keep that in mind.”

He stoops low, gently taking Nasir's hand in his own. It's smaller than Agron's, with smooth palms and long fingers. Even the smallest of details, like the curl of his cuticle over his nail and the wrinkles over his knuckles are beautiful, and Agron suddenly gets a surge of affection for the boy. He's sure Nasir did not beg for this engagement. He was probably just as blind sided, and Nasir's hand trembles in his own.

“I will leave you two to it.” 

Gerulf narrows his eyes at Agron before shoving out the tent. It's a warning, for Agron to remember his place. If he's going to have any hope of turning the little savage witch into royalty material, Agron can't show softness from the get go. He needs to be firm, like training a dog. 

“Nasir.” Agron uses his free hand to raise his chin, he can see that Nasir's eyes are red and still a little teary. Something seems to crack in Agron's chest, a strange sense of protectiveness and concern washing over him. 

“You are my betrothed,” Agron murmurs, quiet enough that only Nasir can hear him. “You do not bow to me.”

“I-” Nasir flounders for a minute, eyes widening a little, before he clears his throat. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

“Aw, look at the little dove, you've scared him with your whispers,” Tove flops down down on the throne, grinning at Nasir. “Are you afraid of the big bad wolves? We don't bite, unless asked.”

Nasir bristles, clearly offended by the tone. He doesn't pull away from Agron, but straightens his spine, brown furrowing. They talk about him as if he's not even in the room, as if he's some ornament to be worn on Agron's arm. Is this the life that Nasir is going to have to look forward to? 

“Tove,” Agron murmurs warningly, expression still soft at Nasir. 

“I'm just checking to make sure he's comfortable,” Tove laughs, hooking one leg over the arm of the throne, “All bases covered.” He makes a lewd gesture to his crotch and Nasir turns his head, color staining his face for a whole new reason.

“Fuck off,” Duro swats at the back of Tove's head, catching an ear with his fingertips. 

“I'm just trying to make nice to the future consort,” Tove rubs the side of his head, glaring out at the two brothers, “It's not like he knows anything about us or living in a civilized nation. Traveling around like a pack of wild dogs.”

“Ironic you would call us that,” Nasir hisses, “considering what you really are.”

“You fucking-” Duro moves towards Nasir, but is stopped by Agron's hand. 

“Stay where you are and hold your fucking tongue,” Agron growls, pressing his palm firmly into Duro's stomach, “We are to be joined as one come tomorrow, so you will address Nasir as you would address me and show him the respect a royal prince deserves.”

Nasir's fingers tighten in Agron's, tensing at the harshness of his voice. It suddenly because very clear how much bigger Agron is than him, and though his words are sympathetic to Nasir, he can't help but feel intimidated. Nasir can only fathom what Agron will truly be like, as a husband and as a bedmate.

“Come.”

Agron guides Nasir to standing by his hand, gently maneuvering him closer to the fire. He looks half frozen, still wearing his thin skirts and a silk robe. It makes Agron wonder if Nasir was hoping for warmer climate, and upon winter, if he will wake up to find Nasir frozen among the snow. 

“You wanted to talk to me,” Agron supplies, ignoring his brother and cousin in favor of meeting Nasir's eyes again. 

“I wanted to ask,” Nasir begins, fidgeting with the ends of his hair, “If I am to stay here with you as your bonded, then I request that I am allowed to keep one of my people here. ”

“One of your people?” Agron raises an eyebrow. He can't help but notice how small Nasir is, shoulder thin, nipples dusty brown and hard in the air. It makes Agron want to reach out and touch him, caress his chest and stomach, unwrap him from his shiny clothing.

“Our magic is stronger in numbers and he'll be the most knowledgeable at delivering the child when it comes.” Realizing his words, Nasir freezes, and the blush once against colors his face. 

“Our child?” Agron can barely contain his grin. 

“Is this not what it's all about? Why everyone would see us wed? So I may produce your heir?” Nasir's voice takes on a bitter note, souring his expression. 

"Not all of it," Agron murmurs, thumb tracing dizzing circles on the back of his own hand.

"Please," Nasir reaches out, gently taking Agron's hand back into his own, imploring, "He's my best friend."

“Does he wish to stay here with you?” Agron reaches out and gently tucks a strand of Nasir's hair behind his ear. 

“What?” Nasir turns dazed eyes up to stare at Agron, confused by his calm tone. 

“Does your friend, the one you mentioned, want to stay here with you?” Agron repeats around a tiny, gleeful smirk at Nasir's expression. 

“Yes,” Nasir nods, “He does. He will. We have never been apart.” He wrinkles his nose, embarrassed as his stilted rambling. 

“Then I see no reason why he can't,” Agron shrugs, “If it makes you happy, then we can construct him a tent near ours. It should be easy in preparations of tomorrow evening. I will set someone on task come morning.”

“Really?” Nasir asks, barely believing that Agron has agreed. He expected more of a fight. 

“Yes,” Agron nods, cocking his head a little to the side. “I won't deny you something that will make you this happy. Why would I?”

Ducking his head, Nasir makes a half attempt at a bow, more of a bounce on his heels. A strange giddiness wells in his chest suddenly, relief mixed with hysteria. There is too much going on, too many emotions, and Nasir can't seem to pin his thoughts to one thing. He eyes Agron through his lashes, grin hidden behind his veil.

“I'll be uh,” he makes a half aborted motion towards the back of the tent, pulling back. 

“Of course.” 

Agron steps with Nasir around the fire and to the entrance, pulling the hide flap back for him. They pause, staring at each other in the moonlight. It sharpens features, shadows contours, and for some reason, Agron gets the extreme urge to kiss Nasir. He can't, due to the veil, but he settles with pressing a soft, dry kiss to the back of his hand instead. 

“Do you know your way back?” Agron asks, releasing him. 

“Yes, thank you.”

Nasir lingers too long, awkwardly clasping his hands before him. He wants to say something, maybe pat Agron on the shoulder or touch him somehow. He doesn't want to feel affection for him. He wants to still have that fire he had in his wagon. Nasir wants the rage, but he can't seem to muster anything but awe for Agron and his luminescent green eyes. Finally, he just settles on another nod of his head, briskly turning and starting across the encampment. 

Waiting until Nasir disappears into the treeline, Agron storms back into the tent, shoving a basket of blankets out of his way and smashing a bowl beneath his boots. He lashes out, smack Duro hard on the side of the head and Tove in the chest, snarling as he crowds them together. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you both?” Agron growls, fangs sharp and pressing into his lower lip. He can feel his ears elongating, sharpening, and he hasn't lost control like this in a while.

“Ow! Fuck!” Duro groans, holding a hand to his face, sure he'll bruise. 

“We were just kidding,” Tove grunts, toppling from the throne and hunching over. “He probably doesn't even understand what we're saying anyways.”

Stepping forward, Agron grips Tove's ear between his fingers, twisting it sharp and yanking him into a standing position. They're nearly the same size, but there is something more fierce about Agron's physique, sharper and larger. He snarls in Tove's face, and his eyes taking on an eerie glow, supernatural powers gleaming in the fairly dark tent. 

“Learn your place. By this time tomorrow, Nasir will rank higher than you, and you will remember that,” Agron growls, voice deeper than before with a animalistic tilt. 

“I'm sorry,” Tove whimpers, not resisting his cousin's grip, face turning red, “I am. I'll apologize to him tomorrow.”

Agron turns his head to look at Duro, raising an eyebrow. Duro cows under the gaze, ducking his head in instantly submission. 

'We both will go tomorrow. We swear.”

Releasing him, Agron pats Tove roughly on the shoulder, fangs retreating back into his mouth. He shakes off the tension with a small roll of his shoulders, trying to sooth his raising heart, the rage receding as suddenly the weight of the day washes over him. Agron finds himself slumping with exhaustion. 

“I'm going to bed.” Agron grumbles, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Duro reaches out, gently brushing his fingers over Agron's shoulder, an affectionate gesture. He can see the strain in Agron's face, the knots and tension in his shoulders. It can't be easy on him. He too is being traded, given a gift but it's not really a gift. It's a person, one he is responsible for and is required to stay with forever. 

Agron allows it, wrapping an arm around Duro's waist. He even reaches out and pats Tove's back, a gesture of forgiveness. 

“Come on,” Duro murmurs, guiding them out of the throne room, “We have a wedding to plan in the morning. We're all going to need some sleep.”

 

\- - - 

 

Smoothing his fingers through Nasir's long hair, Pietros twists sections back into an intricate braid, pulling it back from Nasir's face. It's part of their people, the braid signifying new life, new hope, but he doubts that Nasir will care about it now. He spent all night restlessly tossing and turning, and when sleep finally overcame him, he sobbed until Pietros held him. Clasping the braid with a small jeweled comb, Pietros lays his lips gently against the back of Nasir's shoulder. 

“You look beautiful,” he offers as a way to sooth, but Nasir just gives a miserable sigh. 

“Beautiful enough to a barbarian's whore?”

“I do not think that will be your fate,” Pietros turns Nasir's chin towards him, meeting his gaze, “You have great power, Nasir, and he will see that. I do not think he is a replica of his father. He seems different.”

“We don't even know him,” Nasir pulls away, fiddling with the ends of his hair as they tickle his ribs, “I don't even know this man, and he's just going to have everything? What if we don't get along? What if I never grow to love him and I hate him and I'm just stuck here.”

“I'll be there with you every step of the way,” Pietros soothes, watching Nasir's bare body pace along the wagon. 

“And then what? We both end up tools for his sport and pleasure?” 

Nasir pulls his wedding outfit off of a large cushion, beginning to pull it on. It's comprised of two pieces. Cream colored eyelet lace pants that band thick at the waist to cover him, legs left bare, a tiny ultramarine pattern adorning around his hips like a belt. They're loose and flowy, the type to gently swish when Nasir walks. 

The next part is the veil, lined along the bridge of Nasir's nose with tiny gold coins, and made of soft cream colored fabric. It's pinned into Nasir's hair, easily pulled away at the end of the ceremony by Agron. 

“How am I supposed to bring a child into this world when the people here treat me no better than the dog that lays at their feet?” Nasir pours himself mug of wine, draining it quickly and refilling it. 

“You said Agron defended you, did you not? He may prove to be gallant,” Pietros begins creating small flowers in the palms of his hands, bundling them together. 

“Or he may prove to be nothing more than a thick body with no compassion,” Nasir chides, putting the finishing touches on the kohl around his eyes before slipping his veil into place. 

“Thick?” Raising an eyebrow, Pietros teases, “You think he's thick? He has the physique.”

“He's of a form,” Nasir shyly fidgets with the hoop in his navel, spinning the gold.

“You like him.” Pietros' tone is accusing and fond.

“I don't,” Nasir shakes his head, lacing his pants up the front, “I don't! He just has something...I don't know. He's different.”

“Different how?” 

Pietros watches the way Nasir rocks on his heels, searching for words with a rosey color on his cheeks. It's the first time that Pietros has ever seen him so caught up with someone, even if it's just slight right now. 

“I don't know how to explain it,” Nasir shrugs, “I look at everyone here and I just see what they are. Brutish. Violent. Fairly dirty. Agron is all of those things, but – I don't know – I feel a weird sense of safety with him.”

Standing, Pietros gently takes Nasir's hands in his, “Even if you never love him, you could be happy, Nasir.”

“Maybe,” Nasir shakes himself, freeing himself from the somber feelings crowding his mind, “If anything, I can at least train him in sex.”

“You excited about that?” Pietros wiggles his eyebrows at Nasir. 

“I mean, I felt his cock when I sat in his lap,” Nasir supplies, grinning lewdly, “It'll be fun if he knows what to do with it.”

“You got it so bad. You do. Holy shit,” A peal of laughter breaks forth from Pietros, high and light, “You want him.”

Blushing and pulling away from Pietros' hands, Nasir busies himself with reaching for his a stray blanket, folding it and refolding it. 

“He's attractive, I guess, but I still don't know anything about him.”

“You will tonight.” Pietros makes a lewd gesture and thrusts his hips towards Nasir, who kicks his barefoot out at him. 

They fall into companionable silence after that. Pietros slips flowers into Nasir's hair as the other man tries to calm his nerves, drinking slower but with trembling hands. The hours is getting later, sun sinking behind the horizon. The wedding will be at sunset, and Nasir has not seen anyone else all day. He has holed himself up inside his wagon with Pietros, pretending that it is all a dream. 

He's interrupted from his musings by a knock on the side of the wagon, the weight of the person on the step making it shudder. Pietros shoots him a look, eyebrows furrowed. They weren't expecting anyone, and if it were the twins or Kallistos, they would just come in. Freeing his hands from flowers, Pietros nods once before going and easing the door open. 

“Is Nasir here?” 

Duro and Tove stand close together, looking like giants in their thick leather armor. Duro's crooked crown throws off the illusion, but the sword at his hip helps reinforce his status. In his hands, he holds a medium sized wooden box, a huge moon carved on the top. 

“Nasir,” Pietros moves out of the way, motioning for Nasir to step forward, “Your future brother is here.”

Nasir steps further towards the doorway, sliding more into the light. It reflects across his jewelry like shimmer gold, a treasure, and both Duro and Tove's jaws drop. 

“Oh love,” Tove mutters, dropping to one knee, “you are beautiful. Truly, just breath taking.”

“For a wild little dog?” Nasir hisses, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Your majesty,” Tove drops his head, elbowing Duro in the thigh. 

Duro doesn't drop as low, but bows his head deeply. There is an odd sense of power around Nasir, the air crackles with it, and Duro can't help but feel awed. He may hate him, hate what he is here to do, taking Agron from Duro, but he can recognize his power.

“We are here to formally apologize for our behavior yesterday. Our behavior was appalling, and we do not wish that to be a representation of the family you are about to join,” Tove continues, staring at Nasir's bare feet. There is something oddly young about them, smooth and small, innocent. Tove has no idea how old Nasir is, and though his body looks like a man, there is still something so painfully innocent about him. 

“And you just came to this conclusion?” Nasir spits, unimpressed, remembering the twisting feeling 'otherness' from yesterday.

“Agron did send us,” Duro supplies, stepping forward to offer Nasir the box, “But we do feel like shits.”

“What is this?” 

Nasir reaches out a hand to smooth it along the curved wood, tracing the cold silver of the moon. He knows these people are old, knows of their power, but being confronted with it like this is overwhelming. He has no idea what could possible be hidden inside of this box. And for that matter, what sort of monster lurks under his future husband's skin. He's heard stories, knows that not all of them are able to control their shape. 

“It's the crown our mother wore on her wedding day,” Duro explains, “Agron – and our family – would like to offer it to you. As a token of welcome.”

Unlatching the front of the box, Nasir raises the lid slowly. He expected a lot – something huge and chunky, a wolf head snarling on the front. Instead, the circlet is exquisite. It's a thin gold band, etched with tiny symbols of light, life, and fertility. The middle dips down into a sharp V, and between the strands is an acorn sized diamond, glinting in the light. 

“Oh,” Nasir breaths, tracing his fingers over the band. 

“May I?” Duro offers, lifting the box a little. 

Speechless, Nasir nods, stepping out of the wagon. Duro kicks Tove awkwardly in the thigh, waiting for the other man to rise before shoving the box into his waiting hands. Being extremely careful, Duro lifts the crown from it's gray velvet setting, holding it up and over Nasir's head. He stares down at the man, giving him a charming, crooked grin, before setting the crown down over Nasir's hair until the jewel rests in the center of his forehead. 

“It suits you,” Tove grins, wrinkling his nose down at Nasir.

“Thank you,” Nasir nods slightly and raises a hand to feel the cool surface of the diamond. 

“It's the moon,” Duro explains, “The symbol of our people.”

They stare at each other, faces skillfully hidden behind masks. Duro wants to like Nasir. And maybe he would, in another life where Nasir wasn't ripping Agron away from Duro. His best friend, his brother, and a bit more when they feel the urge. Now there is Nasir though, and Agron won't want to go run around the woods, get up to shit, and ignore his duties. His role will now to be a proper kingly heir and produce his own. 

“i should finish getting ready,” Nasir motions towards his wagon, feeling scrutinized and judged. It hurts, more than Nasir thought it would. He wants to scream at Duro “Do you think I want this? That I asked for this?” but what would it matter? The deed has been done. Nasir can hear the drums begin in the center of the tribe, signaling the wedding is about to begin. 

“We will see you shortly.”

Both Duro and Tove bow their head before turning on their heel, redisappearing through the trees. Pietros waits until he can no longer hear the crunch of their feet and then comes to wrap his arm around Nasir's shoulders. 

“If we need to, we can kill them in their sleep and escape. I saw where they keep the horses.”

“I'm alright,” Nasir gives a faint smile, turning back to the wagon. He has to be.

 

\- - - 

 

“Did he accept it?” Agron asks the instant Duro joins him at the front of the gather. 

The ceremony is beautiful. The Alptra people have set up the canopy over Agron's head, a twisting of young trees interwoven with flowers and soft cloth. Hanging in the center is the silver moon emblem that usually adorns the outside of the throne room – covered in thick branches of mistletoe – the sign of fertility and good luck. 

People gather on carved wooden benches, used only for the most sacred ceremony. The Pythonissa have left their mark as well. Floating flames like waxless candles linger by the hundreds overhead, flowers intermingled between. The whole place smells like lilies and honeysuckles. 

“Yes, he accepted,” Duro mutters, picking at his knuckle guard. 

“And? What did he say?” Agron turning to look over his shoulder at his brother. 

“He said it was beautiful and I put it on him and he went to finish getting ready.” 

Duro doesn't raise his head, muttering as he finally frees the spot of blood from the metal. Huffing, Agron turns all the way around, squaring his shoulders. 

“What is it?” He snaps, keeping his voice hushed. 

“What?” Duro lifts his eyes for the briefest moment, cowing away from Agron's furious gaze.

“We are standing at the front of my wedding ceremony,” Agron grits through his teeth, politely nodding to Kallistos as he takes his place next to Gerulf at the front. “And you are throwing a temper tantrum, so get it out before Nasir arrives.”

“Yeah because everything is about him,” Duro rolls his eyes, going back to picking at his armor. 

Eyebrows furrowing in disbelief, Agron has to resist the urge to smack Duro in the back of the head. 

“Are you seriously fucking saying that? Did you not fucking notice we're at a wedding right now? My wedding? To Nasir? He's a key part in this.”

“Yeah well, maybe he shouldn't be,” Duro snaps, “Maybe he should just get back in his wagon caravan and leave.”

“That's not going to happen,” Agron growls, fingers curling on Duro's shoulder, “He's here to stay. He will be my consort. I didn't ask for this, but it was the king decision and we must live by his ruling. So I suggest you take your orders like the rest of us and keep your mouth shut.”

“I don't have to like him.” Duro mumbles the words, half pouting. 

“Neither do I, but you will treat him with respect.”

Agron turns and stands straight, listening as flutes begin playing. It's the sign that Nasir is approaching, and Agron feels his palms begin to sweat, anger melting in face of anxiety. He's not one to be nervous, not in battle or the day to day, but this – this wedding – rocks him in a way he's never felt before. Fidgeting with the buckle on his sword belt, Agron takes a deep breath. He will conduct himself like his father would want – stature of a prince worthy of this kingdom. 

The floating blossoms at the end of the aisle begin to spin slowly as the flutes pick up their pace, swirls of color that begin sliding higher and higher, revealing the person standing behind them. Nasir has his head bowed a little, fingers cupping together to hold a flame. It doesn't touch his skin, but hovers above it, flickering and swirling up in sharp curls. He raises his head slowly, veil fluttering and locks eyes with Agron, finding a focal point to stare at even from such a long distance away. With just a moment of hesitation, Nasir's barefoot suddenly slips from beneath his see-through pants, and he begins to make his way towards the front. 

The very sight of him steals Agron's breath. He just stares, green eyes wide and focused on every step Nasir makes. The lights seem to draw on him, glittering on the gold of his jewelry, the darkness around his eyes, and he looks celestial. Agron can feel his other-worldliness and wants to reach out and touch. He can not imagine being able to touch him, kiss along Nasir's soft looking skin, claim him and be claimed.

Nasir's mouth is dry, energy on keeping the flame going distracting him until he gets close enough to really see Agron. He looks so large, standing in intricate silver and leather armor, thick straps that crisscross along his chest. His hair is spiky around his crown, still a little wild, but the awestruck look upon his face softens him – makes him younger. Nasir can feel the blush on his face just from Agron's expression. 

Walking feels like it takes forever and yet he arrives at the front before he's ready, coming to stand before Agron. Nasir tries to control it, but his hands tremble when he raises the flame towards him. It's a custom of their people, one handing their life – their powers – another. Since Agron can't accept it with his own hands though, he raises his own hands to cup Nasir's, staring into the flames. It lasts for just a few moments before they both lean forward to blow it out, sharing a soft smile. 

A man Nasir has never seen before steps between them, wearing a large purple robe. Agron nods at him familiarly, as if they're old friends. He has a lined face, the look of stress and a hard life, and yet there is mirth in his eyes, a calmness in the storm. Keeping their hands clasped, the pair turn towards him, and the music stops. 

“Friends, we are gathered here for the most joyous of occasions – the bringing together of two lives. No other unity is as complex or as everlasting.”

Staring down at Nasir, Agron tracks the soft slope of the bridge of his nose, wondering what lies underneath his heavy veil. He can't imagine anything that isn't beautiful. Nasir must be gorgeous. It was explained to him that the Pythonissam people veil their unmarried to hide them from the world. Their faces hold their magic, their expressions, and that untamed power can not be seen until they belong to another in case the beauty of their face entices people to steal them. 

“Agron and Nasir represent the greatest powers within our land, and their unity will not only bring two groups together but may one day bring new life as well. The mingling of blood is a powerful thing – a sacred thing – to be shared with the highest of honor. This bond is higher than anything these two men will make in the rest of their lives.” 

Spartacus continues, pulling a long, jewel encrusted knife from the table. He takes Agron's hand in his first, slicing across the palm hard enough it wells with blood. Reaching for Nasir's, he smiles warmly at him, soothing his fingertips on the back of Nasir's hand as he cuts him as well. Nasir flinches, but he doesn't pull away, eyes darting up to Agron and getting a reassuring smile in reply. Then, once enough blood has gathered in their palms, Spartacus raises their hands and presses them together, letting the crimson mix between. He takes a long, scarlet rope from the table behind him next, working it over their wrists and fingers, tying them together.

“With this bond, you are now part of one another. You are one in the eyes of the moon and the stars. No life will come between you, nor hardship or grief. This bond is as eternal as the ocean and land, forever meeting in the vast eternity, one giving life to another.”

Nasir presses his hand a little firm against Agron's, eyes steady on him as he lets his magic flow. It curls around their fingers, a soft brush like a warm summer's breeze, and Agron can feel his skin restitching, healing itself with Nasir's power. It brings a giddy feeling to his chest, light and airy, and he flashes a grin at Nasir – dimples and all. 

“Your life is no longer your own. You are one, united against turmoil and sickness, and blessed both by joy and liveliness. This can not be unraveled, even in death, as one walks besides the other, forged by blood and this vow. Do you swear it?” Spartacus turns to Nasir first, smiling at him again. 

Keeping his gaze firmly on Agron's face, Nasir's heart pounds in his chest. He feels hot and nervous and yet in Agron's green eyes, he finds peace. A calm taking over for just a moment – single second oasis where Nasir is able to speak the words without stuttering. 

“I vow it.”

“i vow it.” 

Agron echos, squeezing his fingers between Nasir's and clasping his hand. He does mean it. Even if they never love each other, even if he can't stand Nasir at the end of it all, he will not leave him – not in a world he does not understand, surrounded by people who will use his power against him. 

“This cord and this swear will be honored and remembered by the exchanging of rings, symbols of the continuous circle of life. You will wear these beacons as a sign of your continual path together.” 

Spartacus unravels the rope from around their wrists, setting it back onto the table and retrieving the two rings. They're both gold bands, Agron's plain with etchings along the metal while Nasir's holds a diamond to match his crown. They slip each other's on, Agron pointedly ignoring that Nasir is still shaking. Instead, he cups Nasir's hand, steadies him, eases the metal down and then rubs his thumb across the knuckle. Nasir's eyes waver just slightly on his face, fingers tightening around Agron's. 

“May this audience stay as witness to this vow and swear to see it done.”

The crowd gives their reply, a swelling of “I swear.” deafening the gathering. It's a powerful surge of magic, and Nasir can see out of the corner of his eye that his people have sent up red sparks – a showing of their power and willingness to bide by the promise. With a special little smirk towards Agron, Spartacus addresses him next. 

“Agron, you may remove Nasir's veil.”

Taking a deep breath, Agron raises his hand to the side of Nasir's face, slipping his fingers through soft hair until he finds the small hook that keeps it pinned in place. He pauses just for a moment, just to meet Nasir's eyes and hold them, reassure him, before he slips the veil down across Nasir's face. 

Holding his breath, Nasir keeps his eyes straight on Agron's as they roam over his face, widening and widening. They're so green, but his mouth hasn't moved and Nasir gets the sinking feeling that this was all a mistake. That he isn't acceptable and Agron doesn't want him at all. Cringing, Nasir wants nothing more than to yank the veil from Agron's hand and secure it back across his face. 

“I-” Agron whispers, fingers curling softly to cup Nasir's cheek, “I'm searching for something to compare you to.”

Nasir makes a half aborted attempt at a nod, confused.

“But I can't,” Agron continues, “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Nasir can feel his blush spreading across his cheeks and neck and Agron's grin widens at finally being able to see all of it. He trails his fingers gently across the skin, feeling the warmth and softness. He almost can't help himself as he trails his thumb down across soft line of Nasir's bottom lip, enticing it from between his teeth. 

Stooping down, Agron goes slow, gives time for Nasir to pull away if he wants. He can refuse him and Agron would not fault him. They do not know each other and are surrounded by everyone they know. There is pressure here. Yet Nasir stands still, eyes falling shut the moment Agron's lips touch his own, even if the skin trembles just slightly. 

Nasir has never been kissed, always had to keep the veil on, even if he was lying with a man. He has imagined a lot of them, what it would feel like, taste like, but nothing imagined could be even compare to this kiss. There is something perfect about this one. Agron does not over power him, demand things, he simply presses his mouth warm and soft against Nasir's – chaste and endearing. It warms Nasir from the inside out.

After a few moments, Agron pulls back just as slowly, hand still on the side of Nasir's cheek, and smiles at him, watching Nasir's eyes flutter open. He looks a little dazed, a flower suddenly blooming in his hair next to his ear, but not as scared as before. 

“Good people of Alptra, I present to you, your crowned High-Prince Agron and his royal consort Nasir.”

Spartacus' booming voice breaks the spell, separating the two from their hazy admiration of each other. He ushers them forward, and Agron grabs Nasir's hand in his own again, fingers still a little damp, before leading him back down the aisle, feeling hundreds of flower petals shower down onto them in celebration. The crowd is uproarious, clapping and shouting enough it seems to shake the very ground.

They veer off from the crowd when they get past the tree line, heading towards a separate tent. This one is used mostly for storage, filled with old baskets and dusty swords. Agron releases Nasir's hand the moment they get inside, rubbing his face. 

“So, we're married,” he offers, turning to look back at Nasir. 

“We are,” Nasir agrees, “and they're going to start the party without us.”

“I know. I wanted to get some things out before though,” Agron tugs his crown off, lightly tossing it on top of a pile of blankets and running his fingers through his hair. He doesn't want to be a prince right now, just Agron. “Look, Nasir, I want to apologize for my brother and cousin-”

“You don't need,” Nasir cuts him off, “They already did.”

“No, I do,” Agron shakes his head, “They had no right. They're young and stupid at times and have never had to deal with the pressure we have – being the chosen son. I don't want that to be your impression of us.”

“Okay.” Nasir digs his toes into the soft ground under him, awkwardly swaying. It seems to be never ending – the anger and confusion and sudden affection. He doesn't know how he feels. He doesn't understand it. 

“You're angry,” Agron notes. He sympathize, yet he's put himself out in the open. He apologized to Nasir – something he does not do to anyone – and yet it is not enough?

“No, well,” Nasir scratches the side of his nose, “I am. I am furious, but there is very little you can do about it now. We're married as your father commanded per your request.”

“Do you think I asked for this?” Agron's voice shifts, a hint of a growl on the clipped ends of his words, “Do you think I just went to my father and asked him to buy you? Like I was picking out a horse? I didn't do anything. You basically offered yourself to me and my father saw it. He made this deal, not me.”

“I only offered myself to you because it's what would have been required of me,” Nasir snaps back, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, “Our people entertain, we give pleasure. I was the best, the highest ranking, and now what? What am I?”

“You are now part of our royal-” Agron starts only for Nasir to raise his hand. 

“I am your whore. I am the vessel you needed to make a child,” Nasir hisses, eyes turning sharp and cruel, “I will never be anything but the wild little dog you captured. I am no wolf and I am no warrior.”

Agron grits his teeth, willing them not to sharpen. Anyone else and he would have hit them, put his hands on them until they bleed. It's only the voice in the back of his mind reminding him who Nasir is now that stops him. 

“You are my consort and my prince. So, your majesty, I suggest you get used to it.” He yanks his crown back on his head as he marches to the doorway, turning once he's there to look over his shoulder, “Perhaps you will be lucky.”

Nasir turns to look at him, expression still twisted in disdain. 

“We are to battle soon. You may not get the chance to live out your theory.”

Agron leaves him then with a dull thud of the canvas doorway being thrown back. Nasir can hear the shouting and music from within the walls, people gathering for the party. Sinking down onto a short basket filled with grain, he buries his head between his hands, swallowing back tears that burn hot and insistent against his eyes. 

He wishes he hadn't said what he did to Agron. Somehow, Nasir knows it's not Agron's fault. It's not either of their faults. It's their fathers. They wanted this and chose it for their sons. And now Nasir and Agron must share the burden of accepting their fate. 

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Nasir takes a deep breath. He will put on a mask, pretend that he is a good prince – worthy of his title and position. Pretend that he isn't losing more than he is gaining. Pretend that this is what he wants. 

Nasir squares his shoulders, lifts his head, and with a sure hand pushes out of the tent and heads towards his reception. 

 

\- - - 

 

The hour is growing late, but the party shows no signs of slowing. Alcohol and food are never ending as people dance and gather to the music's constant beat. There are have been a few good-hearted brawls, a table broken and a one person needing to be carried off, but no one has shifted. No lone howl spearing over the clatter of the festivities. 

Agron's face aches from all the smiling he has done, greeting people and shaking hands. Nasir has sat beside him like a devoted and happy consort, laughing and sharing jokes with his brothers and people in a sharp language that is foreign to Agron's ears. He only touches Agron when someone demands it, putting his hand on Agron's shoulder and greeting someone, thanking them for a gift. 

He has barely eaten, instead stealing honeyed fruit and sweet bread, licking his fingers clean from the sugar crystals and syrup. It distracts Agron. Even though he's still mad at Nasir, he still can't help but find him attractive, especially now that he can see Nasir's full mouth wrapped around his digits. It's like a ploy, a tease of what else is to come. 

“Nasir! Come! Dance with us!” Mika and Jem stumble from their seats, faces flushed from drink. 

Turning his head, Nasir meets Agron's gaze, timidly putting his hand on Agron's on the table. It's warm and soft, fingers curling around Agron's in a gentle cup. Nasir looks so lovely with the firelight dancing across his face, expression earnest. 

“Why do you turn gaze upon me? If you wish to dance, then dance. I am not your master,” Agron shrugs, motioning with his hand towards the twins who are now spinning around one another before the fire. 

“I thought-” Nasir blushes, fingers tightening around Agron's, “Thank you.”

Agron nods once, marveling at this creature. He still wants the rage, the fueling wrath that usually circles around Agron's whole being. Yet, it's so hard to keep himself tense and walled off when Nasir grins at him like that, dashing out from around the table to join his brothers. Let him stay young, innocent for just a while longer. 

Leaning across Nasir's now vacation seat, Agron gently taps Pietros on the shoulder, catching his attention. 

“Yes, your highness?” Pietros whips around, pausing his conversation with one of Agron's men – Barca maybe?

“I would ask a favor of you,” Agron murmurs, keeping his voice down in case he is over heard.

“Anything,” Pietros turns further, noticing the gravity in Agron's tone. 

“It is just that, Nasir is has been drinking for some time,” Agron awkwardly scratches at his jaw, “I would ask that could you slow him down?”

“You do not wish for him to drink?” Pietros' eyes narrow, already getting the wrong idea. 

“No! No, I mean, he can do what he wants. It's just that the hour is late and we are to retire soon to our tent,” Agron takes a deep breath, “I would not have him drunk when we go.”

“Oh.” 

Pietros is surprised, shocked even. Studying Agron's face, half twisted in awkwardness and concern. It's apparent he cares about Nasir, even if it's just bonding from being in the same predicament. Still, Pietros can appreciate Agron not wanting Nasir to be drunk, incoherent, and not consenting when they consummate their marriage. He may not be the monster that both Nasir and Pietros suspected. 

“I will have him sober and clear headed when we come to your tent.”

“We?” Agron raises his eyebrows. 

“Did your father not discuss this with you? He wants proof that the marriage is completed, and since Nasir won't bleed like a virgin bride, he wants witnesses,” Pietros explains, reaching for a piece of bread on the table, “He chose Duro and I volunteered. I figured Nasir would be more comfortable with someone who has already seen him fuck before.”

Agron is at a loss for words, a blinding fury suddenly ripping through his chest. How dare his father! Acting like Agron and Nasir's marriage is some sort of fucking show. Not trusting that Agron, and Nasir in part, would do what is required. A sudden thought though rips through Agron's mind, forcing words out before he thinks. 

“He is not a virgin?” Agron blurts. 

“No,” Pietros laughs, dipping the bread in honey and popping it in his mouth, “Did you think he was?”

“I assumed, since he is able to bear children,” Agron mutters, flopping back into his chair. He raises a hand to his mouth, idly chewing on his thumb nail. It doesn't matter to him, it's better really, so Agron won't have to be so worried, but he feels overwhelmed. He barely knows anything about his new consort.

“It does not work like that,” Pietros explains, moving to sit in Nasir's chair so he won't have to shout, “Our magic is a lot like this.”

He places two bowls before Agron, filling one with water and one with wine. Pietros then grabs the bottle of oil that rests upon the table, pulling the cork out with his teeth. 

“Imagine this bowl of water is some man that Nasir was intimate with,” Pietros explains, “and this oil represents Nasir's magic.”

He pours a few droplets of oil onto the water and it settles across the top, lingering above the waterline in thick yellow droplets. 

“It doesn't mix. He stays above it, resists the pull of that person. Now imagine you are the wine.” 

Pietros pours the same amount of oil into the wine, and this time, it sinks and stays upon the bottom of the bowl. 

“His magic has to choose you, to sink into you and full immerse itself in you,” Pietros continues, “If not, neither one of you will be able to share the bond.”

“The bond?” Agron questions, still eyeing the bowls in amazement. Does their magic extend this far?

“If Nasir's magic chooses you, truly chooses you, it will have some pull. It will make you stronger, faster, easier to heal. You'll become almost one entity even, better together than ever apart,” Pietros grins, “and through this, he'll be able to make a child.”

“How do I make his magic choose me?” Agron bites harder at his nail, a sudden fear encroaching upon him. If he can not make Nasir choose him, then their marriage will never be to fruition. Gerulf's wrath would be unimaginable. 

“It might not and then you'll have to have everyone in the village try and see if they can get him pregnant,” Pietros replies matter of factly, breaking into a loud laugh at Agron's instantly furious face. 

He stares out at Nasir, still dancing and spinning between his brothers. He looks so painfully perfect like this, happy and free, and Agron can't imagine anyone else touching him – taking anything else from him. He wants to keep this Nasir, the one that emits light and joy, forever. Never wants anything to dampen him down. 

“My prince,” Pietros continues through his giggles, “I was only kidding. No one knows how our magic connects with other people. I don't know what Nasir's magic will do, all I know is my best friend. I have seen him with many men – both performing and within the bedroom.” 

He pauses, letting Agron's expression storm over even more. It delights him that Agron is already protective. 

“I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you,” Pietros gently lays his hand on Agron's, hoping to sooth, “You both have been through a lot, but he is not closed off to you like he is with everyone else. It's a small opening, sure, but one with a little nurturing, you could see flourish into something beautiful.”

Agron sighs deeply, processing everything slowly. It's too much to handle all at once, a continuous pressure on his chest to please his father, do right by his people, and now care for the safety and protection of his consort. Agron knows he must shoulder the weight, rise above the challenge, and yet everything seems to rest soley on him. 

“I will try, Pietros, to do what needs to be done and protect him.” He means it. He really does. If only to keep Nasir like this, twirling in the firelight and happy. 

Resigning himself, Agron is about to grab himself some more food when suddenly his father's large hand comes down on his shoulder, surprising him as Gerulf's hot breath pours down his neck – smelling like stale wine. 

“Hour is late, son. I would see you retire to tent after festive day. I am sure your little dancer is eager to feel you between thighs.”

It's not a suggestion. Nothing ever is with Gerulf, and Agron nods once, instantly pushing his chair back from the table. He has to wonder, sidely, if this is how it's always going to bed. If Gerulf will always tell him what to say, what to do, when to fuck.

“I will find Duro and retire then,” Agron mutters stiffly, looking down at Pietros, “We will wait on your arrival.”

With a clipped nod, Agron turns away in search of his brother, hoping that the quick, fluttering feeling in his stomach will stop soon. 

 

\- - - 

 

It's quiet now, only the trilling of the cicadas filling the late night air. The party has dissipated, drunken couples stumbling to their tents, back lit by the dying fire. Everything is calm, a fantastical mist clinging to the air. 

The grass glimmers in the moonlight, thick with cold dew. It clings to the hem of Nasir's robe, his feet slick as he makes his way towards his new home. Mika and Jem are on either side of him, cupping fingers around bright flames, illuminating their way. They are here to give him away, act as representatives of his people – the last thread before Nasir becomes the proper consort. 

The preparation was done in silence. They helped dress him, combed out his hair and washes his body once more in spiced water, before pulling on his robe. It's an emerald and sheer, open down to his groin where three tiny, ornate clasps keep it closed over his cock. Though there is cloth covering him, Nasir's body is on display, glimpses of it caught in the light. 

When they reach Agron's tent, two men stand before the doorway, arms crossed tightly over their chests. Nasir recognizes the one on the left, even without his purple robe, but the one on the right is unfamiliar. He's got long wavy hair that hits his shoulder, thick beard covering half his face. 

“Your majesty,” Spartacus greets, “Crixus and I are only here as a formality, a barrier between anyone who would seek to have an audience with you during the night.”

“You are here to make sure no one comes in and steals Nasir away,” Jem accuses, eyes narrowing. “Do you often lose people this way?”

“We are here for protection.” The other man – Crixus – growls, clearly offended by the foreign prince's suspicion. “For both Nasir and Prince Agron.”

“You think Nasir will attempt to kill your prince's life?” Mika snarls, moving to step forward. 

“I made no such claim,” Crixus shrugs, “but perhaps you aim to make threat?”

“We are here simply as a formality,” Spartacus steps in, hand on the front of Crixus' chest, “Nothing more. We live in dangerous times – dangerous for all of us.”

“I am grateful,” Nasir cuts in, stepping out from between his brothers and bowing his head slightly towards both Spartacus and Crixus. 

“He is ready for you whenever you want to go inside,” Spartacus murmurs gently, holding back the flap of the tent for Nasir. 

Seeming to have defused the situation, Nasir turns to Mika and Jem, smiling at both of them faintly. They had already given him advice, things Nasir had heard a hundred times at least on how to please a man, how to roll over and take it. Reaching up, he gently pats each of their identical cheeks, ignoring the sympathy and anger in their eyes. They all have resigned themselves to this, and both Mika and Jem have stopped trying to fight it, keeping silent to ease the way for Nasir. 

“Pietros,” Nasir nods once to his best friend, before turning and entering the tent. 

Inside, the tent is fairly simple. A large fire pit – like all the other tents Nasir has seen – takes precedence in the middle of the tent. It is glowing warm, enough to cast lights and shadows on the plain walls of the tent. On the back wall is a huge bed covered in blankets and furs, surrounded by sheer, white curtains. It obscures the bed a little, but if anyone where on it, an intruder would be able to tell. 

There is a table alone one side as well, a large pitcher of water and an amphora of wine placed next to a large wooden bowl. There is also honeyed figs, sweet breads, and salted meat. It seems a meal has been laid out for the couple, but Nasir couldn't eat if he tried. 

Standing to the side of the bed, Agron looms nearly bare, a thin, cream colored cloth wrapped around his hips and crotch. He isn't wearing any armor anymore, just a thin cord of leather hanging from his neck and down his chest. He looks calm, even as he waves his fingers at his brother, dismissing him from Agron's side. 

Duro stomps down from the raised platform the bed sits on, standing before Nasir with a scowl for just a brief moment before he goes and sits on a large chair, moodily crossing his arms over his chest. It only seems to heighten the tension in Nasir's shoulders. 

“Have strength,” Pietros whispers into Nasir's ear, clasping his fingers tightly before releasing him, finding his own chair halfway between the fire and the bed. 

Inhaling slowly, Nasir raises his head and steps into the curtained section and pulling it closed behind him. He hadn't noticed when he first came in that a large candlight lamp is suspended above the bed, illuminating the wolf furs and pillows upon the bed and the man who stares at Nasir with wild eyes. 

“You look beautiful,” Agron murmurs, smiling gently at Nasir. 

“Thank you.” 

Though Nasir has obviously noticed Agron's size, he hasn't had the opportunity yet to really examine his form, hidden under furs and armor. Now though, he can see all of it, tracking his eyes along every sharp curve. Agron's whole body is muscle, thick cords that stretch across his broad chest, biceps twice the size of Nasir's, and pecs large and firm. His stomach is soft definition, abs looking hard and tensed, and leading down to the sharp v of his pelvis. Nasir marvels at the size of Agron's thighs, thick and strong. 

“How do you want me?” Nasir asks, brushing his fingers through his hair and pushing it back from his face. He can feel a heat slowly traveling along his stomach, twisting in his groin, and his cock gives an interested twitch as he watches Agron's chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“What do you mean?” Agron tries not to notice the sounds of Duro shifting in his seat, stepping towards Nasir instead. He can clearly see the contours of Nasir's body through his robe, though it's half cast in shadow because of the folds of the fabric. He wants to pull it off, slide his hands down Nasir's smooth chest, kiss along his stomach.

“On my knees on the bed or I can bend over,” Nasir inches towards the bed, fingers slipping along the clips of his robe. “Or I can use my mouth first.”

“I hadn't really thought-” He's taken aback by Nasir's casual way of speaking, enticing but not really meaningful. 

“We can do whatever you wish, your majesty,” Nasir ducks his head and it's such a practiced move that it makes Agron's stomach twist. 

“Agron,” he murmurs, “I am no high-prince to you. I would have you call me by my name.”

“That isn't proper,” Nasir blushes, hands pausing on his stomach, eyes going a little wider at the implication. He is still lower than Agron in rank, still just his consort, nothing more, but isn't that everything? He is Agron's bonded now, his one. 

“Who is to say what is proper or not? I am your husband, not your master, and you are not and will never be my servant.”

Agron can't resist any longer. Nasir's face is flushed, lust filled eyes traveling down Agron's stomach to his crotch, biting his bottom lip. They're moving too fast and not fast enough, and Agron will do whatever is in his power to bring pleasure to Nasir, to show him that he is not a slave to Agron.

“I will have you however you wish.” Agron murmurs, reaching his fingers out as he moves towards Nasir, gently brushing his knuckles along his soft jaw. “Over and over until your body can not cry out for any more pleasure.”

They freeze for a moment, staring at one another with baited breath. It seems to stretch on and on and on until suddenly Agron is surging forward, unable to contain himself. He holds Nasir's jaw firmly in his hand, tilting his face up, as Agron crashes their lips together in a brutal kiss. 

It's vicious and needy, mostly tongues slipping together outside of lips, sharing breath. Nasir's mouth falls open under the assault, fingers scrambling on Agron's back for balance. His mouth is so warm, tongue probing along Nasir's teeth, lapping at the room of his mouth. He lets Agron dominate the kiss, teeth tugging insistently on Nasir's bottom lip when Agron pulls away. 

Slipping his fingers into Nasir's hair, Agron grips it firmly at the base of his skull, tilting Nasir's head back so he can trail his mouth over his neck. It's an instant reaction, Nasir giving a high pitched, needy mew, nails digging into Agron's bare back. Grinning, Agron experimentally runs his teeth along the tendons, nipping at the skin when Nasir presses closer.

"You have never been kissed, have you?" Agron growls, nipping at the junction between Nasir's neck and jaw. 

"Does it show?" Nasir whimpers, fingers curling up and into Agron's hair, a sudden insecurity creeping upon him. 

"No. It just makes me want to kiss you more." Agron answers matter of fact, preventing Nasir's response with pressing their lips again together. 

Sliding his hands down Nasir's back, Agron gathers the ends of his robe in one hand while the other slips under, fingers teasing along the outside edge of Nasir's ass. The skin is smooth and warm, supple in his hands, and Agron can't resist gripping it, lifting Nasir up with one hand. 

Yelping, Nasir wraps his legs around Agron's waist, the change in angle freeing up his hands to roam through Agron's hair and along his stubbled jaw. He feels as firm as he looks, body so powerful against Nasir's, seeming to hold Nasir's weight up like it's nothing. He can feel every twitch of Agron's body against him, burning hot and slick already. 

"Fuck!" Nasir whimpers when Agron's hand slide along his thighs, dragging his nails teasingly. 

"Was my intention," Agron growls into Nasir's ear, nipping at the lobe teasingly. 

Agron can feel his cock throbbing, hard and curved up against his stomach. He already knows this man is going to be the death of him. Agron wants him, more than he thinks he's ever wanted anyone before. Every time Nasir gasps between their lips, Agron's grip tightens, body thrumming for it. 

They fall back into kissing, but slow down a little. Agron coaxing Nasir's lips open with the tip of his tongue, taking his time to trace the sharp edges of Nasir's teeth, drink in his scent and taste. He smells sharp, like cinnamon and jasmine mixed together, intoxicating aroma that just fills Agron's lungs up and up until he can't escape it – doesn't want to pull away. Instead, he trails his mouth against Nasir's cheek, moves to his jaw, then ear, then neck, dragging his nose through Nasir's thick hair, taking him in as he sinks his teeth once more into Nasir's smooth neck.

The heat that started as a small flame in Nasir's stomach is growing, blazing up his spine and numbing his fingertips. He's never been this turned on before, every brush of Agron's fingertips of him sending him sharp little blazes along his nerve endings. He can see out of the corner of his eye that his fingertips are sparking, tiny little red flecks of light that land on Agron's skin. If it hurts him though, he doesn't comment, teeth implanting in Nasir's neck, sucking hard to color the skin.

Outside of the curtain, Pietros lounges back in his seat, taking a lazy swig from his cup of wine. He can't deny what he's watching is hot, especially the high, needy moans spilling out of his best friend's mouth. He's never seen Nasir so into someone before, hands desperate on Agron's body instead of hanging limp. To the side, Duro shifts loudly, ignoring his cup of wine and instead slurping from the amphora. Pietros can see that he's hard, cock straining up against the thin wrapping around his waist, and yet his face is twisted in the most disgusted scowl. 

Pulling back, Agron smirks at Nasir, dimples on full display. He takes in Nasir's swollen mouth, beard burn on his jaw and neck, already so debauched, before lightly and easily tossing him back and onto the furs. Nasir bounces a little, settling with hair sprawled around him on the pillows, dazed eyes staring up at Agron through half-lidded eyes. Agron is about to crawl up onto the bed when Nasir's foot presses warm and firm to his shoulder, a lusty little smirk on his face. 

“Wait,” Nasir's eyes track down Agron's body before jumping back up to meet his gaze. 

Trailing his hands along the gold embroidered edge of his robe, Nasir's quick fingers undo the clasps, letting the fabric fall away from him, revealing his flushed and leaking cock, the soft cut of his thighs, and sharp hip bones. The thick bracelets on his wrists and ankles clink together as he moves, tiny tinkling like a luring song. He lets Agron's eyes move over him him, hunger clear in his face, fingers twitching, before Nasir slowly sits up. He slips his arms out of the sleeves of his robe, casting the whole thing away and off the bed, before reaching a hand forward and running the tips of his fingers along Agron's quivering abs. 

“I want to see.”

Agron can barely contain his growl, teeth begging to extend within his mouth. His wolf paces inside of him, wanting to reach out and claim, but he'll wait. He'll play Nasir's game for a little while, give him a show. The flush on Nasir's face is too pretty to ignore, and the way his cock strains up against his stomach isn't missed either. Agron wants to please him. 

Hands teasing down his chest, Agron unties the knot with sure fingers, unraveling the fabric until it falls as a bundle to the floor. He stands tall and proud, delighted at Nasir's suddenly wide eyed stare, mouth falling open in a gasp. Agron wraps his hand around his cock, working the flesh in a firm fist, precome drooling from the tip. 

“You um-” Nasir flounders, half caught between wanting to reach out and taste and wanting to recoil. 

“Exceed expectation?” Agron smirks, pressing a knee between Nasir's legs before moving fully onto the bed, hand still moving over his cock. 

“No man stands in comparison,” Nasir murmurs faintly, finding himself falling back onto the pillows. 

Agron perches above him, hand slipping from his own cock to grab Nasir's in a sure grip, stroking the skin. He keeps his pace even, neutral, even as Nasir's mouth falls open in a loud moan, fingers scrambling along the sheets. It's already intoxicating the way that Nasir seems to fall apart under any sort of attention, and Agron has to wonder what it will be like when they're alone – when Agron can take his time and draw every breath and gasp and moan out of him slowly. Leaning down, Agron trails his teeth along Nasir's collarbones, inching further with open mouthed kisses until he reaches Nasir's nipples. 

Licking across the flesh, Agron drags his teeth next, blowing cold air across them as they harden. Nasir whines, hands gripping Agron's hair, half wanting to push him away and half wanting to drag him closer. He's never felt pleasure like this before, body thrumming and leaking between their bodies. Agron slides further down though, trailing fingers and teeth and his lips along Nasir's stomach, playfully rolling Nasir's navel ring against his tongue. He gets to Nasir's pelvis, teasing the skin with a sucking kiss, when suddenly Nasir's fingers turn sharp in his hair, pushing him back. 

“What are you doing?”

Nasir's eyes have cleared to be a little panicked, hands scrambling from Agron's hair to his shoulders as if he hopes it'll give him a firmer grip to hold him back. 

“I was planning to taste you,” Agron's fingers tease up Nasir's cock, just lightly dragging his fingertips. 

“You can't,” Nasir gapes, wiggling a little from the stimulation. 

“Why?” Agron asks, pausing just in case Nasir really doesn't want him to, wanting to respect his boundaries. 

“I've never – You can't – It's not fitting for a prince-” Nasir flounders, thighs shaking around Agron's huge chest. 

“No one has ever done this to you?” Agron asks, a delighted smirk pulling across his face, teeth glinting in the light. 

“No,” Nasir looks shocked, scandalized even, “Why would they? I am meant to serve, not them.”

“It's not about serving,” Agron kisses wetly at Nasir's hip, tracing the bone with his tongue. “It's about giving pleasure. I want to give you pleasure.”

Nasir gives a little whimper, head tossing back against the pillows when Agron moves his mouth down between Nasir's legs. He teases the soft skin on the inside of Nasir's thighs, rubbing his beard against it, staining it red with his stubble. He wants nothing more than to take Nasir into his mouth, suck him down to the hilt, but he pauses, sliding up to kiss Nasir back to him. 

“If you don't want me to, I won't, but I promise I can make it good for you,” Agron murmurs, gently caressing the side of Nasir's face. 

“I-” Nasir pauses, eyes darting around Agron's face as if he's looking for some kind of trick. “Just please don't hurt me.” 

The way Nasir says it makes Agron's heart ache, a sudden fiery need to protect Nasir coming over him. He kisses him gently, coaxing Nasir into response and taking his time once more to map his mouth his tongue, gentle reassurance. 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Agron answers, slowly making his way down Nasir's body once more. 

He laps at Nasir's cock at first, tasting the salty bitterness of his precome. He's already wet, cock leaking even more as Agron fits his lips around the crown, laving his tongue back and forth over the silt, addicted to the taste already. Working further down, Agron covers his teeth and sucks, nursing in rhythmic pulls that have Nasir crying out above him, body shaking uncontrollably. 

Nasir feels like he's been speared, gut twisting sharply. It shoots rapid fire pleasure up his spine, making his abs tense, body curling forward. His magic suddenly swells within him, and before Nasir can stop it, the sparking happens again, a shower of red and gold from his fingertips. He curls them tightly in the sheets, trying to hide it. 

Sucking harder and bobbing his head, Agron raises his eyes to watch Nasir's face - surprised by what he finds. Nasir's body is glowing, shimmers of gold sliding along his skin in gleaming rivers, cris-crossing over one another. He's shing in the light, and Agron marvels at it - if not a big mesmerized. It only eggs him on, speeding up his mouth upon Nasir. 

A pressure begins to grow in Nasir's stomach, burning hotter and hotter, squeezing him tighter and coiling. Nasir has never known anything like this, this mounting fury that makes his magic gleam and sweat slick his chest and neck. He feels like he's dying but also that he's never been so alive before. It's overwhelming and Nasir wants to recoil from it.

"Agron," Nasir whimpers, hips thrusting forward, "I can not-"

Agron pulls back upon the words, mouth bruised and slick. Wrapping fingers tightly around the base of Nasir's cock, he steals back the impending orgasm, kissing Nasir's slack mouth in apology. He trails his fingers down afterwards, seeking out Nasir's hole only to discover it slick with oil already. 

"Not all men," Nasir pants, hands sliding down Agron's arms, "are prone to preparation."

"They would take you unstretched?" Agron asks, a fury so blinding and intense taking over him that he feels his fangs extend in his mouth, closing his lips to hide them so as not to scare Nasir. 

"Only once." Nasir brushes his hair from his eyes. "I learned afterwards to come prepared. It can not always be helped though, many have exchanged coin with my father before dance was over and pulled me from street."

Agron has to close his eyes, taking one deep breath after another so as to not let the impending growl rip from his throat. He doesn't know these men, may never get the chance to meet anyone who has laid their hands upon Nasir, but if he does, he swears he will not pause to cut their fucking heads off and serve it to Nasir on a platter. He deserves more, and Agron swears to himself that he will provide. 

Slipping the tip of his first finger into Nasir, he gently presses further inside, feeling against his slick walls. Nasir's body grips down on him though stretched, tighter than Agron expected, and he knows he will have to stretch him more before they move forward. Keeping one finger firmly within him, Agron reaches over to the side of his bed, pulling a bowl of oil and onto the sheets. He pours some of it over his hand, slicking along Nasir's balls and cock. 

Guiding it, he eases another finger into Nasir, scissoring them all while staring closely at Nasir's face. There is no sign of discomfort on him, mouth gasping as he raises his knees, legs spreading even further apart. It makes Agron hunger like he never has, sliding biting kisses along Nasir's smooth thighs, sucking marks as he goes. 

“Fuck,” Nasir gasps as Agron's knuckle drags across something inside of him that wracks shivers through him, body tingling and sparking again. He can't control anything, just gives himself over to Agron, allows him to guide him. 

Agron does it again, mouth hanging open as he eases in another finger, twisting them within Nasir's body as his other hand rolls Nasir's balls. Feeling as he tenses for just a moment, long black eyelashes fluttering, and Agron speeds up his fingers, coaxing him into relaxing, letting Agron inside. It'll only take another finger before he's ready, but Agron wants to draw it out a little, watch Nasir's face slip into pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Agron,” Nasir whines, hands fisting the pillows above him, arching his body down. He's bent harshly, chasing pleasure, and Agron nips at his hip bone playfully, curling his fingers tighter to press against his prostate. 

“Do you want me inside of you?” He growls, unaware of how his eyes are glowing, “Do you want my cock splitting you open? Deeper than you've ever felt?” 

He makes his way back up Nasir's body, capturing his mouth in a scalding kiss. Nasir doesn't fight him, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue needy and sure against Agron's, moaning when his teeth graze the tip. 

“Do you trust me?” Agron asks, up close and staring, making Nasir's eyes focus on him. 

It's just a question, but Agron means it. He will not take Nasir unless he is sure. They can lie to Gerulf if they have to, he's sure Pietros and Duro would lie for them. Agron will wait, patiently and without violence, if he has to. 

“Yes,” Nasir confesses, and it's true. He's never had his body react this way, not to any man, and though it makes him way to turn away, he can not. There is something so strong in Agron, physically and emotionally, and Nasir is not afraid of him any longer. He knows that Agron won't hurt him.

One by one, Agron removes his fingers, instead wrapping them around his cock to oil it, making sure there will be enough slick so as to not cause Nasir any pain. He's still amazed at the gold shimmers tracing along Nasir's skin, awed by his magic, and the way Nasir seems to lose control when he's under Agron.

Slipping one leg out from around Agron, Nasir makes to turn onto his knees when Agron's sure hand on his waist stops him, easing him back onto his back. Nasir scrambles for a minute, confused. He's never been taken like this before, and it's beginning to swim in his mind how many firsts he is giving to Agron this night.

“I want to see you.” Agron murmurs as explanation, sure hands reaching down to grip Nasir's hips, lifting him up. 

With one hand wrapped firmly around the base, Agron lines his cock up and pauses. Just for a moment, just long enough to Nasir's eyes to flutter open, his whiskey gaze to settle on Agron's. He's half dazed, but he's present, staring sure and strong as Agron slips in the first inch, and then they close, Nasir's mouth falling open in a loud moan. 

Rocking his hips, it takes a while for Agron to sink into him, having to go slow every time Nasir's skin grow brighter, his cries louder. Finally though, after what feels like centuries and millions of kisses, Agron finally bottoms out, holding still above Nasir even though it seems to take every amount of strength he has. 

Nasir has never felt so full in his life. He swears that Agron's cock tickles at the back of his throat, speared all the way through, and yet Nasir can't deny the pleasure of it all. Lifting his trembling legs, he wraps them tightly around Agron's chest, feeling tears prickle at his eyes – overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude inside of him. 

“It's alright,” Agron whispers, leaning forward to gently kiss Nasir's damp eyelids. “I'm right here. I've got you.”

“Please,” Nasir whines, grinding his hips down onto Agron, begging for him to move. 

He doesn't need to be told twice, gripping Nasir's waist between his two large hands, Agron thrusts forward, deep and smooth, keeping his pace even. Leaning down, Agron trails his mouth up along Nasir's neck again, sucking another mark high up under his ear. Nasir colors brilliantly, a deep shade of red purple, that will last for days. 

Agron keeps going, having to hold himself taut and careful, so as to not hurt Nasir. It's all lost though as Nasir's nails dig into his back, the sharp pain of split skin and burning, and Agron makes a sharp jolt forward, receiving a loud wail from Nasir in return. He does it again experimentally, shoving Nasir's body up the bed before pulling him back, and Nasir whimpers, body thrumming. 

It's a frenzy then, Agron gripping him tightly and using his strength to pound into him. He makes sure to keep the angle, nailing Nasir's prostate as he lets one hand roam across his chest, twisting a nipple. It melts Nasir down, makes him cry out and beg in noises no longer full words, and Agron wants him to keep going. He never wants to silence Nasir, getting off on the sounds he makes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Pietros watches at thick, green vines begin to make their way under the sides of the tent, climbing higher and higher, twisting together until the whole entire roof over the bed is filled with them. He can tell Nasir isn't thinking about it, unable to control his magic, and it delights Pietros to no end as tiny jasmine flower buds begin to burst open. Duro scowls at them, trying to push the closest ones away from him, but with a glare, Pietros stops his hand, shaking his head. If he hurts the plants, Nasir will notice and the spell will be broken. 

The bed shakes, pillows falling to the floor as Nasir's hands scramble along the bed, trying to grab onto the sheets. He's moaning loudly, head thrown back and mouth gaping, completely lost in sensation. Every drag of Agron's cock against that place inside of him has him seeing fucking stars, trying to open his eyes but they slam shut. He's never felt this before, the mounting pressure, the firing of nerve endings, the suffocating need for something to happen – somehow to be pushed over the edge. But he doesn't know what it is, doesn't know how. 

“Fuck, you are so beautiful,” Agron growls, fingertips brushing Nasir's hair from his face and dragging him up for a kiss. 

Nasir pants into Agron's mouth, whining high and needy, nuzzling at him. He can't even form thoughts, let alone answer. 

“I'm going to make you come, over and over, until I'm satisfied” Agron's promise is sealed with another kiss, fingers gripping Nasir's jaw. “Nasir, look at me.”

Nasir tries to follow the command, eyelashes fluttering as he finally peeks out at Agron, wanting nothing more than to hide. He's overwhelmed, overloaded, overstimulated, and he's afraid that Agron is going to take it all away. That this is some dream and it's going to turn bad soon. 

“Right here, baby, keep your eyes on me,” Agron soothes, weight pressing down into Nasir, holding him firmly to the bed. “I've got you.”

Gaping, Nasir's fingers turn like vices into Agron's shoulders, tugging him closer until Agron's massive chest lays across his. Hiking his legs up higher, Agron helps Nasir secure his thighs under his armpits, rutting into him no longer full strokes, but short little jabs that grind relentlessly against Nasir's prostate, smothering him in the heat of it all. 

Agron doesn't need to touch Nasir's cock, he can feel it dribbling against his stomach, hot and throbbing, and he's so close. Agron just has to find out what will make Nasir let go. Pressing forward, Agron gently presses his lips to the tip of Nasir's nose, an affectionate gesture to distract as his fingers fall down to cup the back of his neck, and that's it. 

Nasir screams, a top of the lungs cry that tappers off to a moan, cock squirting up his stomach so far it lands in Nasir's hair, his throat. His whole body tries to curl up, weighed down by Agron's, and he shakes, a deep trembling that has him trying to scramble away. 

Locking his arms around him, Agron pins Nasir down to the bed, murmuring reassuring little nothings into Nasir's ear, shushing him and soothing. He doesn't slow down, but fucks Nasir through it, so fucking close from the way Nasir's body tightens down, vice like and so fucking wet. 

“Agron. I can't. I can't. Oh fuck,” Nasir whimpers, turning his sobbing face into Agron's neck, holding him tightly. 

“Almost there baby,” Agron growls through gritted teeth, green eyes glowing and fangs extended. He's thankful that Nasir has turned his face away so he won't see him losing control like this. “Let go for me.”

Nasir's second orgasm comes as a shock, cock drooling and body wracked with shivers. It's more intense than the first, and Nasir's sobs are more erratic, nails digging into Agron's skin so hard he can feel the sparks burning him. 

Pietros watches as thousands upon thousands of tiny flowers bloom, the air filled with the sweet scent of jasmine and sex. There is no wall space now, just white and purple petals filling the whole tent. Duro has given up trying to push them away, instead staring with a seething rage towards the bed, ears pointed and fangs extended. His eyes even seem to glow, and Pietros is a little afraid he may turn all wolf soon. 

The fluttering of Nasir's body is what does him in. Agron thrusts in one last time, one deep, sure push, and he's in so deep he can barely breathe, cock spurting over and over and over inside of Nasir. It dribbles out, leaking down Nasir's thighs and onto the furs, filling the room with the thick scent of sex and skin and a little blood. Agron can't get enough, hand moving down to capture some of the seed, rub it into Nasir's skin so he'll hold the scent for longer. 

It feels like time does not exist anymore, stretched out paper-thin and everlasting. An immortal stretch of air as Nasir sobs into Agron's shoulder, fingers flexing on his back, and Agron soothes him, runs his hands through Nasir's hair, kisses the side of his head. He waits until Nasir is reduced to quiet sniffles before pulling back, kissing Nasir with a tenderness he wasn't sure he possessed. 

“Are you alright?” Agron gently caresses his cheek. 

“Yes.” Nasir's voice is soft, Agron can barely hear it. “It's just that I've never had that happen before.”

“What happen? Coming twice?” Agron asks, smiling reassuringly. 

“Coming at all. At least never from sex.” Nasir's eyes dart away from Agron's. 

“No one has ever gotten you off before?” Agron can feel that familiar welling of rage start again, only tampered down by exhaustion and his body still buried inside of Nasir. 

“No,” Nasir shakes his head, “I have a few times, when I was much younger and alone, but no.”

“Well, I'm happy to be the one to change that for you.”

Agron kisses Nasir firmly on the forehead, apologizing in quiet whispers as he pulls out. It's on wobbly legs himself that he makes his way over to the bowl of water and rags in the corner of the bedroom, coming back to gently clean up Nasir's tired and bruised thighs. He's covered in marks, some from Agron's mouth and some from his hands, and Agron gloats. It'll be clear to anyone whom Nasir belongs to now. 

“You look pleased,” Nasir murmurs, pushing the damp furs out from under him as Agron comes to lay down. 

He stays on his side, hesitating between being close to Agron and as far from as he can, unsure of what to do. The decision is taken from him though as Agron gently tugs him closer, letting Nasir pillow his head on Agron's broad chest, caressing his fingers through Nasir's now sweat damp and curly hair. It's lulling, and Nasir suddenly realizes how exhausted he is. 

“It pleases me when I can make you happy,” Agron whispers, extinguishing the candle next to him. 

Through the curtain, he can see the flowers stretching along the walls, and grins to himself. Agron is proud of making Nasir lose control, lose himself in pleasure, and Agron swears they will have a repeat performance soon. 

“I must confess, I didn't think you were going to be this kind.” Nasir's eyes are closed, easier to say mean things. “I thought you would hurt me or just take what you wanted and leave me alone.”

“I would never do that to you,” Agron promises, gently tipping Nasir's face up so he can kiss his mouth, meeting his gaze, “No matter what happens, I will protect you and cause you no harm, if I can help it.”

“I will do the same.” Nasir vows, surprised at how easy it is to say the words and mean them. 

“Sleep, little prince, and see tomorrow as a new day filled with promise.” Agron kisses him one more time before relaxing back into the pillows, just barely hearing the flap of the tent closing before sleep claims him.

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Nasir's people wear veils until they are married, even though they sleep with men for money, and do not take it off unless around family/friends. I'm not fetishing the practice, it is in their culture to hide away the 'unclaimed magic' behind them. It will be more explained in depth later, but for now, it is just a thing I honestly made up.


End file.
